


Between frontlines

by Shadowmun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon character deaths, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, LOTS of Pureblood superiority shit, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Tags May Change, ages non canon, diverse POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 63
Words: 145,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmun/pseuds/Shadowmun
Summary: The unlikely alliance between Regulus Black and Tristan Malfoy, younger brother of Lucius' and black sheep of the family, leaves both to question their loyalties and leaves them stranded between the frontlines of the first wizarding war.
Relationships: Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - Relationship, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Regulus Black/OMC
Comments: 38
Kudos: 28





	1. An unlikely encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Before you expect to much: the summary will not be fulfilled in this first chapter. The story is just about to start. And it is not fully written yet, expect semi-infrequent updates ;)  
> I intend this to be less a war report and more of angst and drama with fluff in between, so that is, what you can expect.  
> As per usual: no native, no beta, no complaints about your criticism, fire away.

Dammit. Regulus hated to be involved in the quarrels of other students. Especially when this had even remotely to do with Sirius and the misfits he had for friends, probably just to defy their parents once more. But this… He could not let this slip.

Granted, the little Tristan Malfoy was a sorry excuse for a pure-blood child, far from the elegant composure his older brother Lucius presented on daily basis, the eyes always on the floor, the face always decorated with scratches and bruises. But letting a frustrated Severus Snape, another nuisance, and the favorite punching bag of Sirius, have his rage take out on the smaller boy just didn’t seem right. The half-blood could really go and find someone in his own league. So he intervened, before Snape could finish, whatever he intended to do to the sobbing boy.

The half-blood, although older than Regulus only gave him a dirty look, before shuffling away and leaving him behind with the tear-streaked mess of a kid. Reluctantly, Regulus studied Tristan, taking in the messy dark hair, the watery silver eyes, the ripped school uniform. Tentatively he extended his hand to pat the boy on his shoulder and wake him out of his petrified scare, but instead of the expected, a flinch maybe or an escape attempt, Tristan cried out in pain.

Regulus furrowed his brow and grabbed the boy’s collar, watching again and more thoroughly. “Please” the small Malfoy begged. “Let me go… “

Regulus shook his head and commanded instead: “Strip.”

The boy obeyed hesitantly, his eyes scared wide, his hands trembling, silent tears falling once again. When his upper body was exposed, Regulus started to understand why. The body was lined with dozens of traces of injury, ranging from grizzly scars to the freshest of bruises, not yet fully formed. “Who did that?” he asked coldly, calculating the extent of the present injuries.

“Nobody, really…” Tristan sobbed and edged away in small steps, until Regulus angry look pinned him.

“Does the rest of you look the same?” Regulus needed no answer, the head between the shoulders, the slight shiver, the closed eyes told him enough. The face, the boy made… it reminded him of home in the worst possible way. His own face, when his mother had been out for a kill, screaming at the top of her lungs. But the boy looked like that now. And once he thought about it, more or less all the time.

“Can I go, please?” he tried again, but Regulus didn’t buckle.

“To the infirmary. Now. And at 5 you will meet me in front of the potions lab, or I will come and get you.” The boy flinched sufficiently, indicating, he would obey. Regulus could see now, why he had been sorted into Ravenclaw, not Slytherin like his brother. Though, he seemed to fit in there just as badly. For a moment, he asked himself, why he even bothered, why he cared, but then again. If it was nothing but pure-blood pride, making him believe firmly that one Tristan Malfoy shouldn’t look like a beaten puppy, maybe it was enough.

\-----

Tristan was already waiting for him, when Regulus turned around the corner to the corridor in front of the potions lab, but this was no good news, as the waiting time had attracted unwanted attention to the boy. His older brother hovered over him, his well-groomed white blond hair a stark contrast to Tristan’s messy dark brown. “You little disgrace. I told you not to come to the dungeons and humiliate me in front of my peers.” With that he backhanded his brother, the head snapping back painfully. “Most younger brothers shouldn’t be heard, but you little bastard shouldn’t even be seen.”

Bastard, now that seemed a little hard, in Regulus’ eyes. Even with his darker hair and skin, Tristan was the striking depiction of the older Malfoy and his father in everything else.

Once again, he felt inclined to save the small boy. Slowly he stepped forward and coughed politely. “I fear I am in need to intercept. I summoned him to this place.”

Tristan visually sagged in his brother’s grip, though only slightly relieved. His eyes still scanned the floor, in desperate search for anything to hold on, and Regulus’ shoes didn’t seem to be it. Lucius on the other hand, dumped the boy unceremoniously and turned. “What interest could one of the great and ancient House Black have in… that.” His disgust was palpable and left a sting in Regulus’ heart. He and Sirius didn’t always get along. In fact, they had lots of disagreements, some of them quite loud, but never, in all his life his brother would have looked at him like this. Against others, they always stood united. In such situation, Sirius would have defended him, to death, if necessary.

He swallowed his distaste and shrugged. “None of your concern, Malfoy.” And if that’s what the noble and most ancient house of Malfoy treats its members, I am glad for it.

Unfortunately the elder Malfoy brother wasn’t so easily deflected. “You are dealing with a Malfoy, so it is my concern.”

Regulus sighed inaudibly and scowled then. “That…” He pointed at Tristan who flinched visibly. “…is honor-bound to perform some duties for me. I merely employ my rights.”

This seemed to be enough of a declaration for the Malfoy heir and he passed Regulus, throwing a last contemptuous look at his smaller brother. “Behave yourself.”

Tristan shrunk further into himself and nodded resigned, too intimidated to answer. He even seemed to be more at ease, once Lucius finally disappeared, though Regulus’ presence was still terrifying enough to keep him at his toes. He looked at his own feet very intently, when the older boy drew closer.

“What a picture of a pure-blood boy you present.” Regulus scolded him, realizing within the minute this wasn’t going to work on the kid.

He was so far past intimidation he took everything with fatalistic humility, unable to put up even the façade of resistance. “I am sorry.”

Deciding on instinct, Regulus removed a strain of Tristans unruly hair from his forehead and sighed. “Fine. I am going to make you an offer. I will take care, no one bothers you anymore, and in turn you will do everything I say. Exactly as I say. Understood?”

The boy nodded distrustfully. “I don’t understand though. What’s in it for you? I already do, what you say. What everybody says.” With visible difficulties he swallowed the need to cry away, his face a mask of hurt and sorrow.

“That’s exactly my point. You will only do, what _I_ say. You will be my personal s… servant.”

Tristan grinned unhappily about this. “Lucius would be livid.” For a moment, his eyes touched Regulus’ face, before he cast them down again abashedly.

Regulus smirked, tucking another strain of hairs behind the boy’s ear and answered: “Well, let him. He may find out, a Malfoy gets what he wants, but a Black is able to keep it.” With that, he patted his shoulders, being greeted with another wince. He furrowed his brow and stared down at the boy. “Did you go to the infirmary?” The boy nodded, his body going stiff. “You lie to me; this is over, before it began.” Regulus threatened, but the boy only shuddered.

“I did. I didn’t go in, though.” His voice was hushed and close to a sob.

Unwillingly, Regulus broke into laughter. This situation was severely broken, and then, this… impossible boy just… “Why?” he exclaimed breathlessly.

“Madam Pomphrey is angry, when I don’t tell her, what happened. And if I tell her… well… either she says, I am lying, or I get it even worse, when someone gets punished.” He looked sufficiently guilty for anything, eyeing up to Regulus reluctantly.

But the younger Black brother wasn’t necessarily angry. By now, he was considerably more intrigued. “Then… what do you do, when you get hurt?”

“I hide.” Well this certainly explained a lot about the kid’s grades, for judging by his current state, he had been hiding often.

But this was going to end. Or rather: Regulus would put an end to it. Starting right now. With a single tuck to the collar, he dragged the boy behind him, all the way down to the infirmary, where he entered, nothing but determination on his face, prepared to have a serious talk with Madam Pomphrey.

\----

Although Tristan could feel the stare of the older boy, Regulus Black, all the time, he kept his eyes locked firmly to the floor. He had no idea, how to handle this much attention, without the immediate danger of violence. He had learned a lot since last year, when his reputation had been tainted to the point that everybody knew, not to expect retaliation, when they did, whatever they liked to him. He had learned to spot in an instant, which students would simply ignore him and which were out to unleash their frustration, anger or worst case boredom on him. He knew, when to run, when to hide, when to stay still, not to draw attention.

Regulus fit in no category known to him, and so his presence was unsettling and the pains, that came from Madam Pomphrey’s administrations, a welcome distraction. Without complaint he let himself get undressed, positioned, fed potions, everything, she deemed necessary, until she eventually found his condition acceptable. Now, he knew, there would be questions, he didn’t dare answering and he braced himself against the unavoidable sermon. But none came. Whatever Regulus had told the old-fashioned nurse had quenched her curiosity.

Instead, she ushered him out of the infirmary with only an inquisitive look, but left him on his own devices otherwise. Black, though, followed, a constant presence in his back, grabbing him by the collar again, as soon as Madam Pomphrey was out of sight.

The grip was not per se unpleasant. It didn’t rip his clothes or choke him. It didn’t even get close to the point of leaving marks on his skin. It was just… there… Noticeably so. It stirred him into an empty classroom, where Black finally turned him around, the grip only slightly tightening, so Tristan was forced to face him.

“Who did that to you?”

Tristan shook his head, unable to produce an even cursorily believable lie. Stumbling over his own tongue he stared to fill the silence, while Regulus waited, not exactly threatening, but unmistakably clear in his intentions. “Everybody, really… A thing here… or there… It just happens.”

“It doesn’t.” Regulus all but growled, triggering an instinctive crouch, only aborted, when the older boy didn’t let go of his collar. “Not to a pure-blood boy of significant pedigree.”

Tristan couldn’t help but snort. “It happens, when your dad thinks, you are not his.” There it was… right there. He didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t mean to let someone in on this dirty little secret. Especially not someone from a rivalling family, who clearly already had the upper hand on him.

Regulus’ reaction though scared the hell out of him quite differently, than expected. Carefully, the older boy cupped Tristan’s cheek with one hand, looking so incomprehensibly tender. “Oh little one, everyone with two eyes can see, you are a Malfoy, believe me.” Tristan’s inner self tried to run and hide, but his body stayed frozen in place, when Regulus’ hand now wandered up, pushing unruly locks out of his face again. “Off you go for dinner. I’ll wait for you outside the Great hall.”

With that he shoved Tristan softly towards the door and watched him leave… or run, really. He dared not defy his orders, though and headed for the Great hall, as he was told. It was too early still, he preferred to go, when most students had already finished, reducing the risk of someone waiting for him, but today… Tristan knew, in most cases, obedience was the easiest way out. The least painful.

Hurrying he shuffled to the Ravenclaw table, ignoring everyone, shoveling food on his dish to last him through the meal. Here, under the glances of the teachers he was probably safest now, until his pulse calmed and he had figured out, what to do about Regulus Black.

Strangely, the experience hadn’t been entirely unpleasant and some part of him was looking forward to the comforting safety, the other radiated, albeit knowing, it was a precarious one. If it wasn’t bad enough everyone seemed to think of him as a convenient punching bag, now he had the direct and complete attention of one of the most dangerous students at this school, if the rumors were to believed. No good thing could come out of that… not for someone like Tristan.

\-----

During the whole dinner, Regulus observed, as a good Slytherin should, careful, never to be caught staring, but attentive and perceptive. For Slytherins a certain distance of caution was the usual modus operandi, but on the Ravenclaw table, the same behavior, masterly exhibited by Tristan Malfoy, made him a foreign body, an exclave of pure-blood reserve in a sea of half- and muggleblood comradery. It drew hostility to him, no matter, how much he tried to keep his head down. Differing was never a good idea, especially not for someone appearing weak. Sirius and to an extent Regulus could ride the wave. Tristan was bound to drown.

For some strange reason, this saddened Regulus. What a Slytherin the boy would have made, if it wasn’t for his less then protective brother. He sighed, eating in modesty, and proceeded from watching the boy to watching his tormentors. Some weren’t even hard to identify. Like any predator would, they checked for weaknesses and calculated their chances, scaring each other off, if possible. Most were of his year or older. Even a boy as small and defenseless as Tristan Malfoy could better his own peers, it seemed.

The others… Snape was obviously of course. He had seen him direct his rage at little Malfoy of all people. Others… not so much. But after a while, Regulus was pretty sure, who he was up against and that he could take them. The only one giving him any kind of headaches at all was Lucius Malfoy himself. And for that one, he, ironically, could probably count on Sirius’ help.

This revelation in mind, he finished his plate and headed outside, searching for the right position to lounge himself seemingly bored and lazy on some ledge, while keeping the exit of the Great hall in full view. He was in for quite a wait, as Tristan seemed to take an eternity. When he finally did, Regulus immediately understood. He had some hunters in tow and had hoped to wait them out… Oh, that skeptical. As if Regulus couldn’t get those of his heels.

Silently he stepped in Tristan’s path, just when he was about to pass and dragged him close to his side, whispering gently into his ear: “Next time, come a little faster, hm?” He carefully removed any sting from his voice; yet the boy still flinched as if being hit and nodded nervously, while Regulus stepped in front to meet his pursuers. “Gents?” he smirked and winked at the older students. “Something, I can do for you?”

The threat in his voice was subtle enough, the Slytherin got it immediately and backed off, while his Hufflepuff companion remained completely oblivious and flipped a bird at his departure, before facing Regulus again. “You could step aside…”

Regulus shook his head fake-sadly and shrugged, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I rarely step away from my possessions. And certainly not for a…” He mustered the older boy dismissively. “Half-baked potential school drop-out from a run-down blood traitor family.” Each word rolled on his tongue like expensive wine and made his lips curl in arrogant joy. It tended to be useful to be informed about everyone’s little dirty secrets to deliver lines like this. He lived for that thrill. The Hufflepuff’s eyes flared up in rather impotent anger, as he backed off, seething. “Watch your back, Slytherin” he growled, but it wasn’t much of a threat, when any word about his extracurricular activities might kill the last hope, his parents still held for his education.

“I will” Regulus all but exhaled, before turning around provocative and dismissing his opponent thus. Quickly he found Tristan’s gaze, fear-struck and petrified like a rabbit before the snake. Generously he patted the boy’s shoulder, before tightening his hand around it and leading him away. “Just walk. He won’t follow.”

Tristan Malfoy dared not offer any resistance, even when he guided him into another empty classroom. Then, though, he shook off Regulus’ hand and put some distance between them, his eyes widened, the breath labored and laced with pure fear. “What do you want?” he cried, the voice tumbling. “Why the effort? I’m nothing. I can give you nothing.” Then, tears started falling, much to his embarrassment, appearing faster than he could wipe them away.

A new wave of nausea hit Regulus. This was… disgusting. And not because of Tristan. Quite the opposite, in truth. How could this ever escalate so far that a boy of his heritage thought so little of himself? Nervously he licked his lips and pinned the small Ravenclaw against the wall very gently. “Don’t you dare belittle yourself!”

Tristan looked up to him and shook his head. “I am bound to disappoint. At one point or the other, you will find out… So let’s just get over, with it, will you? I am an utter failure. I fail in classes, I can’t even cast a decent hex and I will be disinherited and cut loose before you can say: but Malfoy.” At this point, he panted heavily, his eyes fixed to Regulus’, fear for once replaced with despair.

At this point, Regulus finally lost his temper. He growled down at the smaller boy, although this was far from helpful. “You fail your classes, because you don’t attend them. I can teach you decent hexes. And I don’t care shit about your inheritance.”

Tristan sank to the floor, covering his head with his hands, as if to protect it in a beating. And waited. Didn’t try to negotiate, didn’t try to beg, didn’t try to flee either.

“Listen.” Regulus kneeled uneasily, stroking Tristan’s back. “It will be alright. Promise.” He didn’t know, what else to say or to do. Hell, things like this weren’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be confident, strong, reassured pure-blood boys, not pets, beaten into submission. And yet… That was, what Tristan was and Regulus had no idea, how to make him better. The boy’s distress was like a maelstrom of despair, pulling him in and under with him, for he felt unable to let go. And watching Tristan flinch, even under the softest of touches, made him want to help so much, it hurt physically, clenching his guts into one big desperate knot.

The boy didn’t understand though, very carefully, he avoided further touch, removing himself from under Regulus’ shelter, one inch at a time, only ever looking up, when he was safely out of reach. “If something looks too good to be true, it usually is.” The matter-of-factly voice and neutral face felt like a slap to the face.

But trying to catch Tristan again would only scare him further, would it? Regulus realized that building trust would require safety first. He could tell Tristan, he wouldn’t hurt him all he wanted; it wouldn’t change a thing… Only true experience would. So instead of trying futilely to go on like that, he refrained to the thing he made work. “Stand up”, he ordered, with only a pinch of sting in his voice and the boy obeyed almost on automatic. “You will stay by my side, unless I order you not to. You will stop looking at the floor; you will start looking people in the face. And you will damn well straighten up. You are no scared puppy, you are my companion.”

Tristan hurried to nod, swallowing away the tightness in his throat, though his face looked as if he’d been hit. “Yes, Regulus.” And then again, in an actually audible volume: “Yes, Regulus.”

Good. “Good.” With a satisfied smile of approval, the older boy straightened his younger protégé’s robes and waved at him. “Homework, then bed. We stay at my dorm.” He detected Tristan’s horror, but he refused to acknowledge it. He would get through and would then understand he was safe.


	2. Ground rules for taming mice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agreement between Regulus and Tristan is put to a test. Or several tests, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, my muse seems in good mood, so the second chapter shortly after the first. I realize though, it will take a little time, until the war plays an actual role in this.  
> For orientation:  
> Tristan: 4th year  
> Regulus: 5th year  
> Severus: 6th year  
> The marauders (and Lucius Malfoy, unlike in canon): 7th year

The following days were busy for Regulus. It was far harder than he had imagined, dropping of or meeting Tristan where needed, lining up their time tables, walking him everywhere. He really started to hate the corridor next to the Ravenclaw common room, where both of them met equal measures of hostility. But at least, it seemed worth it. Tristan got not exactly trustful; his eyes still lingered with the same unanswered question: “Why?” a question, for which even Regulus himself hadn’t come up with a sufficient answer yet.

But at least, the small Malfoy stopped looking permanently scared to death and started to exhibit some normal behavior around Regulus. He even smiled, from time to time, when he thought, no one could see.

And hell, he was clever. When he actually got to work, he figured things out pretty quickly, even tasks, Regulus, one year older, struggled with. Granted, his spells mostly _were_ shit. Even with perfect pronounciation and wandwork he barely managed even an “Incendio”. But there were exceptions. His potion spells were flawless, some of his charms little miracles. Neither of them figured out a pattern what worked and what didn’t, but it was obvious, he was not a Squib and never would be. And when something worked, the pure joy, he radiated was a sight to behold and made Regulus heart skip beat after beat until he felt light-headed.

Still, it left the basic problem unannounced. What did he do with the boy? And why the hell did he bother? Regulus shrugged it off and tried not to put too much thought into the little leaps of joy his heart made, whenever the smaller boy came into sight and actually looked not exactly happy, but at least… at ease. Relieved.

On Sunday though, two weeks in, he waited for Tristan in vain. This was odd. After the first evening, where he had tried to avoid a confrontation, the small Malfoy had never been late again. At first, Regulus got angry about it, but the longer he waited, the more concern took over. Something was wrong. He knew it.

With righteous fury he hijacked the next Ravenclaw he could get hold of and bullied him into clearing his path into their common room and from there into the dorms. It was nothing he normally attempted or would have succeeded with. But in this moment of righteous fury he morphed into a force of nature that only stopped, once he found the bed, where Tristan was supposed to be, the curtains drawn, the room silent.

“Tristan?!” he thundered, drawing the curtain with a brutal jerk. He was there, ghostly pale. There was blood on the sheets, though he didn’t look hurt, a few bruises in the face aside. His eyes were open, but he stared, took almost a minute to focus onto Regulus’ now shocked face.

“’M sorry, Regulus” he panted lowly and shivered, before trying to rise. He barely made it into sitting position before blacking out and falling back. Almost hitting his head on the bedside.

Regulus growled and swooped him up, cursing, leaning the still much too frail and light boy against his chest and leaving, a thundercloud on the move, ready to incinerate anything that got into its path. No one dared impede him.

\----

Infirmary. Again. Unpleasant questions ahead. Again. And defying Madam Pomphrey was one thing. Regulus Black was something completely different. He could still feel his presence, even though the nurse had shooed him away, ensuring privacy for her patient. He would be there, waiting to get his answers. Tristan mused, if this would be so bad. This time he had been severely hurt, first, because he offered resistance, then, because he didn’t anymore.

The safety of one infamous Regulus Black’s presence looked more and more tempting, compared to that. Even, when Regulus intentions were just as bad as he assumed them to be. One bully, no matter how strong and fierce was still better than the whole school, or at least, the whole male population of the upper semesters.

Relaxing slightly, Tristan allowed himself to sink back into the soft pillows on the bed, falling into a deep sleep, in the only place, where he felt sufficiently safe to do so. He didn’t notice Madam Pomphrey’s worried looks, and neither that his self-proclaimed protector came back, bringing him some things and having another lengthy conversation with the nurse. It was late afternoon, when he finally jerked awake, as well-rested as he hadn’t been since the start of the term. And hungry, really hungry, not only inclined to eat, because it was necessary.

\-----

Regulus hated Arithmancy with the same intensity, he loved potions. But at least, it offered a good distraction, while he kept an eye open at the entrance of the infirmary. Since he hadn’t been able to give Tristan an order – which he would have obeyed – Regulus needed to make sure, he wouldn’t slip away again. By now, he started to understand, how the little Malfoy functioned, always on the edge of flight, but slowly getting closer, like a small animal close to taming. And strangely growing on him, no matter how hard he tried, not to let it happen.

The moment, he had stopped seeing Tristan as just… someone, he couldn’t stop there. He had to befriend him. Tristan was so sweet and amiable, in his own, silent way.

If only, he was able to befriend Regulus back… Right now, all he could do was tolerate Regulus’ being around. And under the light of the new circumstances – knowing, the boy wasn’t safe in his own dorm – he had to scare him further. It was a shitty situation, and he could only hope, he could eventually gain the trust he so desperately longed for.

Talking of the devil: just, when he looked up once more, Tristan left the Infirmary wearing the clothes and robes, he had laid out for him. Regulus couldn’t help but smile, when the smaller boy stopped, noticing him and then silently paced over to him.

“Sorry, Regulus.” The voice so small, the look so guilty, it took all of his restraint, not to pull the kid into an embrace, he wouldn’t have appreciated yet.

Instead, Regulus waved to the seat beside him and sighed theatrically. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I should have realized you are only safe with me.” He let it sink in, not implying, what he meant by that and then collected all his things. “We should get you something to eat.”

Tristan hurried to help, eager to keep Regulus in his obvious good mood. When he was distracted, the older boy allowed himself a happy little smile. Somewhere along the way of the last few days, he had started to miss Tristan, when he wasn’t around. Having him back felt too good for his own salvation. Orion would kill him, if he found out.

Okay… maybe not. Sirius had plowed that specific field so thoroughly that in comparison fraternizing with a child of a rivalling family seemed harmless, as long as it was pure-blood, respectable and untainted by unsavory rumors.

And since he planned to go ahead anyways… For all the bad, his parents had done to him, they had equipped him with enough confidence to do whatever he wanted or needed to be done. Abruptly he stood up, startling Tristan, and shouldered his satchel, before the younger boy could reach for it. “Great Hall, dinner. You come over, when you are finished.”

Tristan went along, as told, until they parted for their house tables, where the small Ravenclaw sat down and ate, obviously torn between hunger and manners.

Regulus went on slowly, leaving Tristan all the time in the world to finish his meal, watching all the potential participants in this game as they came and went. Sirius and his bunch, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, came and went, his brother only waving a small hello, before turning towards the Gryffindor table. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t as polite. He sat close and asked, casting a privacy charm around them: “What do you want, Black? What will be needed to make you back off from my… “brother”?”

Regulus ignored the advance and smirked instead: “So you heard of today’s incident. Embarrassed, it wasn’t you, taking care?”

For a moment, Lucius’ hand hovered over his wand, but just then, Professor Slughorn eyed them and he backed off, undoubtedly committing the slight to his list of reasons to hate Regulus. “This is the last warning, Black. There is nothing to gain from this. Our family’s secrets are well-kept, no matter how much you woo the weak link in our chain.”

Regulus didn’t even try to hold back his laughter. “So I’d have to beat you up for them, then? I would happily oblige, to be honest, if they were interesting at all. But, stepping in the place, where you damn well should be, I assure you, you can’t buy me off. I made a promise, and on my honor as a Black, I intend to keep it.”

Another moment of tension, another deadly look, ice cold as it befitted a Malfoy, then Lucius stomped off, far from as composed, as he intended to seem. If it wasn’t for the gruesome reason, this happened, it would have made Regulus’ day. Besting one of the older boys, especially from the _good_ families… This was a whole new reason for existence.

But he couldn’t let himself get distracted, he remembered and let his eyes wander over the Ravenclaw table, where he registered every whisper, every look, every finger pointed at Tristan. Of course, there would be punishment. But only after he got the boy to safety. Until then, it sufficed to know the faces of the culprits.

\-----

This was the first time, since he had come to know Regulus Black, that Tristan finally was close to declining an order. “Get your things. Homework, toiletries, pajamas. We will get the rest later.” Tristan’s face, though not his lips, where caught in one scared “why?” as he hesitated.

Since Regulus refused to acknowledge it, he gathered all his courage, for a tiny little question. “What for, Regulus?” Why couldn’t he just stop swallowing afterwards and make a fool out of himself? He wasn’t going to cry again, in front of the older boy. Was he? With one determined exhale, he analyzed Regulus face, searching for the treacherous signs of anger, disappointment, and annoyance.

When the other’s hand brushed his, he was too surprised, not to flinch, but at least, he stopped himself from jumping away or crying out. All but panicked he let Regulus slowly stroke his arms, up and down and up again, standing his ground, but shaking.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again” Regulus said softly, as if this was an explanation and sent him his way, allowing no more delay. Tristan obeyed, once again, and didn’t linger. The common rooms and dorms of Ravenclaw held no safety, no comfort for him; he inexplicably found both at the side of the Slytherin he was supposed to hate or at least despise. He almost flew back to his side, his books and necessities in a small bag over his shoulder and he bathed in the welcoming smile, albeit sheepishly. God, how naïve of him… He should wait for the shoe to drop and prepare, not allow himself to get careless. But he couldn’t help it. He longed, _starved_ for contact, no matter, how much he dreaded it. And Regulus had been nothing but careful, even when things got tense.

Maybe… just a little trust was in order? But no… He had trusted once, he reminded himself, and everyone in Ravenclaw now knew how that turned out. And benefitted from it, whenever they wanted something from Tristan.

Oh Merlin… Did Regulus know? And what if he found out? Tristan calculated his chances to get away with it against the consequences of a confession and decided against it for now. Each day at the side of his protector was a day won. Even, when the fall afterwards was endless.

\-----

After the interlude of going back to the Ravenclaws to get Tristan’s things, the rest of the evening unfolded as usual. Tristan did his homework, which Regulus checked, and the other way around. Each pointed out the other’s mistakes, they were corrected and then… well then.

Unlike every other day, Regulus didn’t get ready to escort Tristan back. Instead, he ordered him to get ready for bed, pointing for the bathroom that at this time lay abandoned. He had already talked to his dorm mates, who would keep their mouths shut, knowing, their fellow Slytherin would offer them the same courtesy.

Now, all he had to do was make Tristan understand, it was for the best. At the moment, he did a shitty job on that, as the small Ravenclaw stayed frozen in place, once again.

“Listen, Tristan.” He crouched before him and forced him to look up. “I really can’t let that happen again. You are safe here. No one dares touch you.”

No one but you. It was written all over the pale face, all over the silence Tristan kept, though he didn’t outright disagree.

Regulus exhaled, forcefully staying calm despite the instinct to lash out. “Please, little one. All I want from you is that you prepare for bed. And sleep. Can you do that?” It was hard to speak like that. Not to sound frustrated, angry, aggressive. Not to disturb the little bubble of peace that formed around the scared Malfoy boy.

But it was worth it, when he nodded slowly and stood up. “Yes, Regulus.”

Each time, he said the name like that his protector fell for him a little more. How could he not? The growing fondness and trust were invaluable from someone as cautious as Tristan. With another encouraging smile he turned back to his books, willfully ignoring Tristan, as he slipped by into the bathroom and then into the bed. Then he made a show of producing a second duvet from a hidden compartment, placing it on the bed, before heading for the bathroom himself.

When he was back, Tristan had hidden under his blankets on the very edge of the bed, the curtains on his side already drawn. He was shivering and panted softly, when Regulus joined him, but the longer nothing happened, the more he calmed down. And barely half an hour into the supposed ordeal, his eyes fell close and he slid into sleep.

Regulus on the other hand, stayed awake quite long, asking himself, what to make of this. Of the longing for tenderness, the soft flutter in his stomach, the urge to touch, he never had before –he was pure-blood after all- and knew, wouldn’t be appreciated. He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t even name, what he saw in Tristan.

But he could, very carefully stroke the soft, unruly hair out of the boy’s face and study the for once relaxed features, long lashes, delicate high cheekbones, almost regal nose and chin. Beautiful, really, yet so boyishly vulnerable. Now, while they were not blemished with bruises anymore, the boy was at least as desirable as it was said about the Black brothers, who had never had any difficulties to find company, neither of them.

\----

Regulus woke up, something comfortably warm wedged between his arms, and breathing against his shoulder and it took him quite some time to figure out, what it was. Tristan…

It seemed the sleeping boy had much less issues with touch than the awake one. He still figured, it was best, not to startle Tristan on his first morning here and untangled himself carefully. He greeted the other Slytherins with a nod, pulled the curtains close after him – not because he distrusted their respect for his possessions, but to grant the smaller boy a wakeup without a start.

When he came back from his shower, the small Ravenclaw was awake and packing his bag for school, but waited for Regulus order and company to head for the bathroom too. It was a comfortable arrangement that saved both of them so much time they were early for breakfast and could spare a little time to talk, while the house elves put the last additions from the kitchens on the tables.

Naturally, Regulus wanted to know, what had happened the morning before, but in the end, he decided against it. Pressing the matter wouldn’t help his cause and if he wanted the truth, he could always ask the originators. Instead, he asked about Tristan’s preferred subjects at school. He found out, the small Malfoy boy shared his love for potions and was also good at herbology, but felt unsure nearly everywhere else, because one time or the other, he had failed even elementary spells. Charms mostly worked for him and transfigurations too, but he was hopeless in Defense against the Dark Arts and as he admitted under his breath, in the Dark Arts themselves, as his father taught him and his brother during holidays.

Regulus noted it and decided to look into the details later. Maybe he could figure out, what this was about. For now, maybe he could help with some basic spells. A little stinging hex for example might have been a nasty little surprise for anyone getting uncomfortably close to Tristan. So he explained. In detail. Showed the movements. Corrected Tristan’s stance, wandwork, pronunciation. It just didn’t add up. No matter, how well the conditions of the spell were fulfilled, he couldn’t feel a thing from Tristan’s attempts, while strangely his own hexes never permeated the Malfoy’s close to perfect Protego.

He pondered all over breakfast and for the whole school day thereafter about it, achieving no result. Maybe he would need to find some help on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you enjoy a mixture of Angst and Fluff, this is, what I can and usually will deliver. Let me know, what you think, literary I live and die by your input, comments, kudos.


	3. A painful confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas holidays draw near and force Regulus to take his brother into his confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muse still nice to me, and children too.

Unbelievable, how fast Tristan became a constant part of Regulus life, one he thought so essential, he couldn’t do without anymore. Regulus had always seen himself a bit as a lonely wolf, who could easily abstain from personal contact and found the chatter and clatter of people annoying. But from the day, they had moved his trunk into the Slytherin 5th years dorm, Tristan had been such a silent companion, barely noticeable, if you didn’t want to.

After a few days even Regulus dorm mates barely batted an eye that he stayed overnight, permanently. They had gotten used to him being around anyways, during all those homework sessions and started to partake, if they had some particularly complicated essay ahead. And the small Malfoy… he did not exactly get affectionate, but his constant fear wore off. When the door of their room closed behind them, shutting the outside world and its dangers off, he relaxed slightly, each day a little more.

So much in fact that eventually Regulus could see other emotions below the constant layer of despair, guilt and fear. The joy of a good book, the pride, when his grades started getting up, the small glint of acknowledgement, when he met with Regulus after classes.

It wasn’t all fun though and Regulus started to take great care to pass the common room, when Lucius wasn’t around. Just one look of the older Malfoy threw Tristan back into the petrified scare of the first days and kept him there all evening.

On those days he barely managed his own homework, let alone, was able to encourage Tristan to his. And he so wanted to just hug him, pet him, do anything to make him feel better. Only, it would do quite the opposite. On those evenings, Tristan fled into bed hiding under his blankets, staring into nothingness, as if consumed by unpleasant memories. And those nights he would tremble and sob. But never scream. Never scream.

On top of this frustrating emotional conundrum Regulus had to work for his OWLs this year, and the Christmas break and therefore end of the first term was almost upon him. And his parents would expect nothing less than a perfect performance from him, no matter, what else was on his mind. This left little time to look left and right, although he promised himself to find something for Tristan, once he had the first series of exams done and was back in school.

This evening however, he got no work done although Tristan wasn’t in his fear-struck stupor. Instead he felt his eyes, always looking, always present, although he was never able to actually catch him staring. This behavior was… unusual, to put it politely. In the end, deciding it was too late to work much anyways, he sat down next to his companion and eyed him back inquisitively. “What’s up with you?”

Tristan shrugged. “I was just thinking. And saying goodbye, I suppose.”

Regulus reacted so fast, even he was surprised. His hand all but apparated to the back of Tristan’s neck and pulled him close. “What do you insinuate?” This tone was definitely _not_ without aggression and anger.

The boy bit his lip and looked down guiltily. “I just… thought… It’s almost Christmas, you know?” Remembering Regulus’ continued reminders, he looked back up, his face full of concern, and as far from any festive mood as one could get.

Regulus furrowed his brow. “Yes, I know… What about…” Suddenly it dawned to him. He hadn’t been stupid. But ignorant. Of course: everyone went home for Christmas. He was _expected_ to attend the holidays at his parents’. So was Tristan. And after defying Lucius over weeks, more than a month now, there could be no positive outcome to that. Even if Abraxas, Tristan’s father, didn’t take sides – highly unlikely after the boy’s confession – Lucius would make his life a living hell. And remaining here, in Hogwarts was equally unfeasible. Once removed from Regulus’ protection the hyenas would be waiting.

In all his good intentions Regulus now realized, he had put Tristan into an impossible position, where a tragic outcome was almost guaranteed. And he had just closed his eyes and pretended it would be all good. This was far from the standard he held himself up to. This was inacceptable and needed to be mended. Immediately. He sighed and waved. “Let’s go.”

Tristan watched him bemusedly but followed his lead anyways, when he left the dorm and then the dungeons, heading up and up, until they were close to the Gryffindor tower. There, he waited, until one of the gold-and-reds came by to send him to his brother with a message and ten minutes later, they perched uneasily in an unused classroom, opposite to the most famous foursome, the school had to offer.

As Regulus knew them, Potter and Sirius lounged relaxed on some tables, one-upping each other on account of coolness and bad-boy attitudes. In Regulus’ not too humble opinion Sirius usually nailed it, because he gave a flying fuck on what he was about to lose. Which hurt. But he would never admit how much he wanted his brother to just come home. For now it was enough not to lose him completely. And although encounters like this were never simple, the mischievous smile, Sirius gifted him, spoke clearly of the love they still shared.

Obviously, Lupin had to intercept his musings as usual. “So then… we haven’t exactly all the time in the world…” Since he couldn’t play the coolness card, all bony and awkward at times, wearing the faint sadness that never left him like a badge of honor, he always tried to be the voice of reason, in the most annoying way possible.

Regulus shrugged and tried not to snap at the sudden movement of the rat of a boy they kept around, presumably for fun. To him, Pettigrew’s constant groveling and boot-licking was plain disgusting. On good days – or when he wanted something – he just ignored him. On bad days, Pettigrew better kept his distance. Today though…

Regulus cleared his throat and addressed Sirius directly. “Do you really need your gang around? It’s not like I will kill you in your sleep for the inheritance.”

Sirius laughed at that and came close finally, placing a none too soft blow on his brother’s shoulder. “As if.” With smiling eyes he mussed up Regulus’ hair – which he hated - and asked then: “So… what is it?”

Regulus shrugged. “I might need your help.” Then he explained the whole situation, very intently ignoring the rest of the Marauders, for he wouldn’t win them over, if he couldn’t convince Sirius first. “It’s not about me, you know?” he pleaded, ending his monologue. “I thought you might have some sympathy. And he could stay with you… For Christmas at least… I will work something out for the summer.”

Before Sirius could say something, Potter snorted and Pettigrew snickered off-puttingly. Regulus glanced at Tristan, who had not uttered a single word on his own and looked like he wanted to be somewhere else very desperately. He didn’t even look at the older boys and tried not to draw attention, while Sirius still pondered: “I am not your personal welfare” It looked like refusal, but it _sounded_ like “Convince me.”

Regulus sighed and tried to come up with some more arguments, when help arrived from an unexpected side. “If you don’t, I do.” Remus Lupin, of all people. Regulus eyed him surprised, but could find no hidden agenda in his face. Everyone else seemed just as astonished and even Tristan finally lifted his eyes from the ground, when Remus shrugged. “Can’t take him on boxing day though…”

Regulus stared bewildered, while his brother nodded, strangely tender and sighed. “Fine. I do it. I take him in for Christmas.” And then, under his breath: “I can’t believe, I am doing this.”

Lupin grinned at him and then at Tristan, who suddenly remembered the ground and shrank back into himself. “You owe me, Padfoot.” With that, he turned his back to everyone, suggesting, already on the leave: “You should bring him around a few times before though. Not that he dies of terror, once you hand him over.” With that, he disappeared, and one after the other, Potter and Pettigrew followed. Only Sirius remained a moment, watching Regulus carefully. “I worry about you, you know? I wish, you would come, too.” For a moment, his hand rested on Regulus arm, warm and reassuring, telling him, even, when they ended up on different sides, even, when Orion pitted them against each other, once the dust was settled, they would still be brothers. And still be there for each other.

So he just nodded, squeezing Sirius’ hand shortly and whispering: “I know. I just can’t do it to them. They won’t survive losing me too.” He had always been the more dutiful son.

\----

Tristan’s impression of the Marauders was even more terrifying than the rumors had it. Four 7th year boys, dangerously confident, with all the traits, Tristan’s subconscious deemed hazardous. Leaders, bullies, one follower.

Just to think, he would need to accompany any of them, when he had to try very hard to let even Regulus close – it was unthinkable. And yet, it was the only possibility. When they were back in Regulus dorm, he slipped into the bathroom and sat down in one of the showers, trying to regain his composure. He didn’t want Regulus to see him trembling after all, he had done for him. So he buried his face in his hands, pressed the palms hard against his eyes, ran the fingers through his hair, all the little comforting gestures, until he didn’t shake from fear anymore but from cold. Until he could reasonably assume, his breathing wouldn’t fall back to the panting little gasps, embarrassing him every time they happened.

The door opened, before he was ready. “Are you alright?” Regulus reassuring shape sat down next to him, close enough to feel the warmth, far enough, not to touch. “You don’t need to hide from me, you know?”

Tristan shivered and edged closer, until every move further would mean touching the other. “I… I am indefinitely grateful for your efforts… And I owe you. I mean it… But I can’t owe them…”

Regulus turned, leaning slightly away to help him keep distance. “You don’t. I do. It doesn’t even matter in the great picture. I owe my brother anyways. More than you could ever imagine. He isn’t like yours.” His hands hovered over Tristan’s and settled again, in his own lap.

Without thinking, Tristan leaned in, touched them with his fingertips. “I... you… shouldn’t. Not for me. I am not worth it.”

“Not this again” Regulus snarled, but stayed unmoved otherwise, too mesmerized to break the unexpected contact.

Tristan shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t… lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. But… you deserve the truth. You do.” Slowly he lowered his hand, until the whole palm touched Regulus’ hands. He inhaled a few times, willing himself forcefully to go on, to get over with it, no matter, how much it hurt. No matter that he just _knew_ , he would be on his own again, after confessing.

“When I was in 3rd year, I had a boyfriend. He was…” Tristan swallowed around the lump in his throat, the voice hoarse and weak, when he went on. “He was nice, he showed me things, he enjoyed me being around and… pleasing him.” He coughed, unsure, if Regulus caught the meaning, or if he needed to get more graphic. “One day… someone walked in on us. And he…”

Where did those damn tears come from again. He didn’t want them, he didn’t need them. He bit his lip, until he tasted metal and spitted out through gritted teeth: “He told them, I was just his… bitch” He mumbled the word, so softly, he doubted, Regulus caught it, but he couldn’t say it louder, couldn’t repeat it either. “He told them, they could have me too. It wasn’t Lucius. He just decided not to… interject the course of action. It was me. It was always me.”

With all of it out, he sat back, removing his hand that Regulus wouldn’t want on his anymore and closed his eyes, finally feeling the freezing cold of the tiles below him. He concentrated on it to fight the urge to sob, to cry, to disgrace himself any further.

Suddenly, he felt arms around him, he felt his body pulled into an embrace, his head pressed against a shoulder, he felt a warmth so surprisingly pleasant, a soothing sound by his ear. “Oh Tristan.” Regulus was still there, didn’t throw him away, didn’t… The wave of relief was so overwhelming, the long lost ability to be touched, paled against it. He relaxed into the older boy’s arms and allowed himself a moment of weakness, shivering in silence, unwilling, no unable to even move.

\----

It was hard, not to explode, not to cry out his rage, not to ask all the questions that seethed in his mind. It was harder even, not to suffocate the boy in his arms just for the urge to hold him, to protect him, to shield him against the world and its cruelty.

Of course, it was true, that no pure-blooded boy, especially none of good upbringing would ever choose this over his duty for the family. But it was also true that it wasn’t exactly uncommon. It created friendships, stronger and more long-lasting than most of the arranged marriages, they usually had, and was nothing to be ashamed of, if handled discreetly.

Abandoning a lover like that, betraying him, throwing him to the dogs like some chewed up bone, wasn’t dishonorable. It bordered complete disgrace in the eyes of anyone worth his name. Even the lowest wizarding families had better standards than that, surely. And still, he didn’t doubt a word, Tristan had told him.

To keep his composure, he slowly plotted how he would find the name of the culprit, and what he would do to him. How he would make sure, no self-respecting wizard ever spoke of him again, but in disgust. Very slowly he stood up, Tristan still in his arms, and put him to bed, tugging him in carefully. Then he headed for his desk and started writing a few letters. There would be blood.

\----

In the morning, a stack of neatly folded and sealed letters lay on the desk, each marked in the perfectly rounded hand, each pure-blood child was taught. Regulus eyed the parchments contently, before turning back to the boy in his arms. He was awake first again. But he refused to move, today. He wanted Tristan to wake up and know he was safe. That even in his arms, there was no reason to fear him. That he didn’t intend to hurt him; that all he could want from him, was to grow under his wing and be the wizard he was made to be.

In turn, Regulus would also grow into the role he was meant for. One day, he would be Lord of a great house, tasked to keep every member and protégé in it safe and happy, to decide its future and to carve its name into the pages of history. Or, if Sirius returned to his senses, he would be at his side, the two of them perfect complements to each other, allowing even greater glory. Basking in the thought, he missed the moment, Tristan woke up and only came back to reality, when those silvery eyes bore into his, not quite scared, not quite happy either, but more trustful than ever before. “Breakfast?”

Regulus couldn’t help but smile. A wall had been broken down, when Tristan showed some initiative. He felt unbelievably proud for the hard-earned trust, he was offered now. He nodded and rose, unsure, what to say, just now. Maybe nothing was necessary, he thought, dressing, taking turns with Tristan and the other Slytherins for the bathroom and then contently marching towards the Great Hall.

He pulled Tristan closer though, under the steadfast staring of Lucius Malfoy, who eyed them, just as they entered and didn’t stop, even, when Regulus came up to the table, to interrupt him. “Enjoy it, while it lasts” he hissed sideways and continued to put Tristan off ease, until Regulus had more than enough, and used a simple tripping hex on a passing Hufflepuff to make him stumble into the older Malfoy and subsequently into his meal.

Of course Lucius knew, he did it. And of course he stared at Regulus afterwards. But in turn Sirius, over at the Gryffindor table now stared at him, and Tristan was almost forgotten and could eat in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First attempt on the Marauders... I hope, you like my way to describe them. Please note, that I describe them through the eyes of Regulus, who is, of course, far from unbiased ;)


	4. Christmas eve special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas eve dinner with the Marauders, all gone wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse still agrees with me, and chapter 4 already, yay.  
> If we go in that pace, the first war related problems will be upon us soon enough... *grin*

After sneaking onto the train to London of Lucius’ view, after huddling in the darkest corner of a compartment with his protector, clad in both his and Regulus’ coat, after waiting, until everybody else had left the train, so Lucius could safely assume, Tristan had really remained at Hogwarts, he finally slipped out, standing lost and lonely on the platform at King’s Cross.

Lucius was gone; Regulus had already left with his parents, some nasty looking pair of wizard and witch; everybody had seemingly left. In fact, he seemed to be all alone, until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Need a ride?” There he was, Sirius Black, Regulus’ brother, in flesh, overly charming smile and very tight leather muggle clothes.

Tristan flinched and had a hard time to decide, if it was better, he had found him or if he had been waiting in vain. He still nodded meekly and sighed, following the lead of the older Black brother without a single word. In long strides, Sirius Black walked from the wizarding platform 9 ¾ over to the muggle platforms and then out of the train station, while Tristan struggled to keep up.

Sirius didn’t seem to notice and he would rather die of exhaustion than let him know, so he was pretty out of breath, when the Gryffindor stopped at a weird-looking muggle vehicle with two wheels. With a slightly annoyed gesture, he dropped a round thing into Tristan’s arms and took his time to put a similar one onto his head.

Tristan watched as helplessly as horrified, until Sirius noticed his distress and sighed, assisting him in the task to put that “helmet” onto his head, before placing his things into a compartment. Then he made Tristan sit down behind him and asked him to hold on. Which Tristan did, with his dear life, although it felt certainly uncomfortable to be so close, even to touch a boy, no… man, he was so severely afraid of. Gladly, the shifting of the vehicle, the wind in his face and the hard bumps of potholes offered enough distraction to get along with it, until they arrived at Black’s place, a cottage about half an hour outside of London.

\----

Sirius Black’s little place wasn’t prepared for visitors. It had one bathroom – Tristan had nightmares about that fact – one real bedroom and some living space. To make up for it, the Gryffindor did his best to transfigure some chairs into a passable bed, placing it in the most concealed corner of his living room. He even provided some folding screen to give Tristan the illusion of privacy. For someone who was basically bullied into letting the Malfoy tag along, he tried his best.

Tristan was still relieved, when the older Black disappeared in direction of the kitchen and left him on his own. It gave him time to sort himself out, calm his heart, gain control over his breathing. Stop his hands from shaking. Determined, not to break down on his first day out, he searched his satchel for the books he brought and immersed himself into the familiar depths of magical theory. Studying always helped, and this topic was particularly interesting: the knowledge, that spells and incantations could not only be divided by their dark and light components, but also by how active or passive they were, if they were aggressive or defensive and, most interesting, if they were of creature origin.

Regulus and most pure-bloods would have denied any creature origin for anything, but being a down-trodden thing himself – or at least feeling like that – Tristan could easily sympathize with those sentient beings disregarded in the wizarding world, fae, veelas, centaurs, even werewolves to an extent, though their moon rage was terrifying enough not to think of them too much.

He was so concentrated on the topic, he didn’t even notice Sirius Black coming back, until he sat down close by and placed a dish next to him. Then, suddenly his presence was so overwhelming, it triggered Tristan’s flight reflex instantly. With a small shriek he tumbled from the bed and crawled backwards on the floor.

“You alright?” Black looked at him confused.

It took time for Tristan to even nod as an answer, the eyes closed, so he wouldn’t have to look at Black again. His every breath was marred by embarrassing little shivers, so he didn’t trust his voice.

“You don’t look alright.”

Bloody genius, that one. He nodded again, clenching his fists into each other, holding his breath, than slowly releasing it. “I am… I was just… startled…” Or scared of his wits, really. Slowly, Tristan forced himself back onto the bed, closer to the dish, closer to the origin of his current fears.

Luckily, Black seemed to realize his presence wasn’t helping and stood up, pulling himself another chair instead. “So… My brother. He doesn’t usually ask for anything. What are you to him?”

Hell if Tristan knew, and he said as much. It only made Regulus’ older brother more curious and he felt the lingering eyes on him all the time. But at least, Black didn’t pry and let him eat in peace.

“If you want to write, you can use my owl” he then offered and indicated where to find it, finally leaving Tristan alone again.

\----

The letter already waited for him, when he woke up, the owl a typical none-descript tawny owl. He was still sure, it was Sirius’, and let it in through his bedroom window. It hooted happily and offered its leg with friendly gesture, eager to fly away freely again. So… no answer seemed to be expected.

Regulus furrowed his brow. Usually, when his brother really made the effort to write, he was more insistent. When he unfurled the parchment, however, he couldn’t help but smile. Tristan’s small, neat, beautiful hand greeted him from the letter.

_Regulus,_

_I arrived safely at your brother’s home. I hope you are not too disappointed that I am making a poor job of getting to know him. I can safely assume though we will get along for the short time necessary._

_I still much prefer you over him, for his choice of nearly everything in his life is unexpected and unusual. As you know, I take comfort in some predictability. Please forgive me the brevity of this letter; I will keep you updated as necessary._

_Yours_

_Tristan Malfoy_

How very polite and formal. How very Tristan, too. Knowing him, Regulus could easily read through it, by everything, he had left unsaid. Summing it up, he was close to a panic attack and in desperate need for some reassurance. He would make do, with what he had, but would probably not last the whole time without help. And he missed Regulus. Of course, the younger Black had expected that, seeing it almost written out, still made him kind of giddy. Offhandedly he decided to visit, if he had the chance.

It wouldn’t be easy of course, but if he could make his parents believe, he was meeting with friends, it might just work. In the meantime, he needed to write a letter of his own. Or several, if they had to last over Christmas for his… yeah… what, his inner self asked again. What is he to you? And again, Regulus was short of an answer. He settled for… adoptive little brother for now. This didn’t fit completely, but it would at least explain, how protective he felt, how willing he was to keep his promise, beyond the mere letter. Yes, maybe little brother was the safest assumption. Safe enough even, he might actually tell Orion about it. In time.

\----

Tristan and Black did the best to ignore each other. Preparing food and leaving it for the other, pointedly looking somewhere else, looking very busy with a book or homework or whatever. Tristan was thankful for that. He didn’t know, if Black did it for his sake or if he just didn’t care or didn’t like him, but to be honest: he didn’t care, as long as it worked. Their gentlemen’s agreement was disturbed though, when a sharp knock announced a visitor.

Instantly Tristan sought shelter on his makeshift bed and behind the book he preferred most, while Black moved over to the front door and opened it, talking softly to whoever was there. As he then guided the person into the living room, Tristan could hear a female voice, but tried not to listen too curiously.

If he wanted to be left alone, it was prudent, not to mess with Black’s affairs. Unfortunately, though, the visitor was not as considerate in that regard. After some talking, she took notice of the changed furniture arrangement and headed for the folding screen, peeping around it with a smile.

“Huh, who are you?” she asked, surprised but friendly and smiled warmly.

Tristan shifted his posture uneasily and sighed. “My name is Tristan and I…” He drifted off, for once seeking the eyes of Sirius Black, as he turned around the corner too.

“Regulus asked me to take him in over Christmas. He’s a friend of his” Black provided vaguely and shrugged. “Don’t take heed of him, he’s a little skittish.”

But the girl, or woman, didn’t listen. “Now, you are cute, little one” she teased gently and grinned, before turning back to Black. “Bring him with you for Christmas dinner, will you? Can’t be alone all the time.”

This fitted neither Tristan nor Black, but there was no way of denying the request politely, so they – for once in unison – shrugged helplessly.

The woman turned back to Tristan and held out her hand. “I am Lily, by the way. Lily Evans. Nice to meet you, Tristan.”

He took it, he shook it, he waited the appropriate time before letting go. “The pleasure is all mine” his education helpfully provided, before he blushed violently and embarrassed himself once again. There was no help for him.

\----

Lily turned out to be Lily Evans, fiancée of James Potter. Christmas dinner, actually on the day before Christmas for some reason only he seemed unaware of, turned out to be an assembly of the Marauders, with one awkward and unwilling addition. Him.

While the usual suspects made their obviously usual jokes and called each other by their usual nicknames, Tristan tried miserably not to draw any attention.

But Lily wouldn’t let him. Continuously she asked this or that, simple things, like passing her the salt or how he liked the carrots. Soon, Remus Lupin joined her efforts, putting Tristan in even more difficulties. Pettigrew, however dislikeable Tristan found him, counteracted, thankfully, and tried to relocate the general attention back to the core group, but he was obviously underequipped for that task, and so more and more even Sirius Black and James Potter took notice of him, making his heart beat louder and louder, until it drained out any other sound and boomed in his ears like a gigantic drum.

He noticed everyone’s eyes on him, noticed someone talking, but he couldn’t understand anymore. Panicking, his gaze wandered from one to the other, finding no consolation anywhere. A sudden jerk at his shoulder caught his attention. Lupin again, so close, so much too close. With an embarrassing whine he jerked back from the chair and fled, leaving the table, the living room, the house behind, out into the cold, _safe_ darkness.

\----

What seemed safe for some time, now posed a serious problem. It was cold. And dark. And he was lost. He had no coat, no blanket and very damp shoes. Worried Tristan studied the faint lights far behind and ahead of him. He had no idea, where to go and if it was even worth the effort, for he was spectacularly bad at speaking to strangers, so asking for help was out of question. But he had to. Each warming charm he cast, wore of faster than the last. Soon, it would be only him and the darkness.

That was, when he heard the noise, something sniffling, like from a dog. Or… No… Uneasily he raised his eyes to the sky, but there was no moon to be seen. Only heavy clouds, promising snowfall, crowded above him. He had a small surge of adrenaline anyways and lunged into the relative safety of a tree, pressing his back into it, while studying the darkness around him.

“Hello?” he forced out, before his voice broke and failed him.

The light of a torch appeared, not far ahead and scanned the ground in systematic motions. “Tristan?” That was Lupin’s voice.

Instantly an echo of the initial panic was back, making him clench his hands so desperately into the uneven bark of the tree behind him, the rough surface threatened to sever the skin. He did not flee again though but stayed put, waiting, until the circle of light touched him.

\----

In the darkness, the eyes of the boy, widened in fear, looked even bigger. Remus sighed and touched Padfoots side, alarming his friend of the state, the kid was in. “Can you stay put? I will try something.”

The black dog nodded and placed his backside firmly on the ground, sniffing around once more to make sure, everything was in order. Remus trusted Padfoot’s nose. And his responsibility. He had outgrown most of his more reckless tendency since… well since the incident. He was, understandably still less compassionate than Remus, but that was ok. Everyone had his strengths. At least, he knew, when to leave room for his friend.

Remus slowly advanced towards Tristan and watched him carefully all the while. On the slightest flinch he stopped, moving again, when the boy relaxed a bit. About two meters away, he halted completely, placing a fluffy looking coat on the ground. “Have a little trust” he whispered and stepped back a bit, waiting for Tristan to leave his cover and snatch the warm clothes from the ground.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Padfoot start to move in a wide circle to ensure, the boy couldn’t get away again, but Remus doubted, the kid was so stupid. He asked himself, though, what had him so scared, that he ran off without even getting a jacket first.

While Tristan with visible relief huddled into the warmth of the coat, Remus made another attempt to communicate. “Will you please come back? It’s cold out here… quite uncomfortable.”

The boy’s eyes followed the dog, taking all his attention, but Remus couldn’t let that happen. Padfoot was often prone to rash action. “Don’t mind him, he is nice, once you know him.”

Fortunately, the Tristan was just as smart as he had hoped and edged slowly closer. “Don’t touch!” he demanded rather feebly, but was willing to follow, when Remus made way and ushered him back towards James’ house. Padfoot trudged after them, almost happily, especially, once the first snowflakes started to fall. The dog loved snow.

\-----

Back in the house with all those people, Tristan felt a suffocating pressure. ‘Explain!’ the gazes asked. ‘Don’t be stupid’, the massive form of one of the marauders, shutting off the door to him, said. And Lily… seemed determined to touch him, embrace him, and smother him with just too much proximity. He was all but petrified, especially since his only escape, Sirius Black, was out of view.

Remus Lupin made a surprisingly good substitute, though, placing himself between Tristan and everybody else, only seemingly by accident. It was, as if he could feel, the small Malfoy felt safer behind him. He didn’t try to talk to him either, just stood there, a calming presence.

Tristan felt still miserably, both for ruining their Christmas dinner and for being forced back into the same rotten situation, but somehow with someone knowing, what he needed, it was easier, better. He was almost settled, almost comfortable, almost asleep, when Black came back and suggested to bring him back home. He was still very much agreeing, no matter, how uncomfortable this… ride was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, James and Sirius don't seem very friendly yet, but still: question of perspective. Of course, Tristan sees the greatest threat in them. I also kind of feel, Remus would understand Tristan best, because of his own mental health issues, with being a werewolf and everything...


	5. A present for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius needs to leave on boxing day, but won't leave Tristan on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really at loss. I have fun, writing this, otherwise, I wouldn't update so regularly. But then again... it is very, very niche. Is there anyone out there enjoying it?

_Brother dear,_

_You left me quite some mess with that boy. You really could have told me, he has some issues, cute as he is. He almost got lost today, on Christmas Eve and I still don’t know, why exactly. We should talk sometime, don’t you think?_

_In the meantime, I have an appointment I cannot miss, on the morrow. I’d much appreciate that you come around, after dinner, to watch after your mess yourself. I am sure, mommy and daddy dear won’t mind, once you have obediently attended the traditional gatherings._

_I’d ask you to send my regards, too, but then again, I am not that vindictive._

_Gift exchange as usual back in Hogwarts? Left mine for you there, not knowing, we would meet before. Looking forward to see you; let me know, where to get you._

_Sirius_

Regulus read the letter twice, smirking. It was never easy between them, never had been, never would be, but Sirius never stayed angry for long either, at least not with him. It was his best Christmas present to receive the letter before he went for breakfast once again. And seeing both Tristan and Sirius in the evening… It was going to be a great day, once he got over the duties of a good son. He smiled at that. Sure, he met all the expectancies of his parents, but behind their backs, he was willing to go even further than Sirius ever had, if more discreetly and subtlely than his older brother.

But appearances first. He dressed carefully choosing the perfect combination and went to meet Orion to tell him about his little row with House Malfoy. Getting the old man on his side in this wouldn’t be easy, but he wasn’t a Slytherin for nothing. Swaying your own parents should have been obligatory part of the syllabus for pure-blood children in his opinion. It left everybody more content.

\----

Christmas day found Tristan crying soundlessly. The season had never been solely happy, not with the obvious favoritism of Abraxas Malfoy towards his older son, Lucius. But little Tristan had always liked the lights, the magic, the little miracles. He had dreamt of faerie lights, flittering in the darkness, he had imagined all the small treats, the house elves created for the grand Christmas table his father held, from which he could nick one or the other on occasion. He had been willing to die for the simple pleasure of going for a sled ride with Lucius, back, when his brother’s fondness of him wasn’t yet poisoned with Abraxas’ resentment.

All that was gone. He was alone, truly alone. Consequently he hid behind the folding screen, even when Sirius Black was up and placed some scrambled eggs and toast around the corner. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to be awake even. All he wanted, right now, was find some damned peace of mind. But it wasn’t meant to be. He couldn’t get his thoughts away from the loss, burning deep within his heart.

Therefore it came almost as a relief, when Black eventually peeked around the screen and asked: “Are you dressed? We need to talk.”

Tristan dressed quickly and then shuffled around the corner, taking the now cold breakfast with him, wolfing it down, so he wouldn’t need to eat again soon. “’M here.” He kept his distance from the older Gryffindor, who didn’t try to change that.

“Listen. I have some… thing to attend today. You stay here and behave, ok?”

Tristan nodded quickly and smiled insecurely. “Course.” It was hard to look at Sirius Black. He radiated strength and confidence, he wore his disregard for traditional pure-blood behavior like a cloak, he was the depiction of everything that put the Malfoy boy in unease. But he had promised Regulus to try and he did, no matter, how much easier it would have been to look down. And so he didn’t miss the little smile of mischief that faded again quickly.

“I’m not so sure, I can leave you by yourself, though. Well-behaved little pure-bloods go home for Christmas, don’t they?” Before Tristan had time to realize, what was said and falter accordingly, he winked though and turned away. “I left some food in the kitchen, suit yourself.”

For the reminder of the day, he all but ignored the shaken boy, who retreated to his books as a safe haven, praying, Black wouldn’t notice, how deeply this hurt, and how often this day he couldn’t hold back the tears.

\----

Regulus was excited enough it got difficult to hide it properly. Luckily his father wasn’t the most perceptive person ever, when it came to him. His mother, Walburga, was a different story, but since he obtained his father’s approval for this evening’s undertaking, she couldn’t refuse him. So after an early lunch, he bade them farewell and floo’d to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, where he fire-called his brother to change the wards and let him through.

They barely talked though; Sirius was in a hurry, strangely tense for Christmas. As soon as Regulus arrived, he readjusted the wards and left for wherever he had to be, with just some “See you in the morn, chap.”

This irritated Regulus profoundly. He hadn’t been to Sirius’ place before and no matter how much brotherly trust Sirius put into him, he had expected to get at least some do’s and don’ts. Instead, he wasn’t even shown where Tristan spent his time. Granted, the place was small enough to find that out himself.

Reluctantly – for he held a lot of respect for Sirius – Regulus stepped into the room, calling out softly: “Tristan? Are you there?” while looking around a bit.

A mousy face with red-rimmed eyes appeared from behind a folding screen. “Regulus!” It was just a whisper, but it held so much emotion, his heart made a joyfull little jump and beat so loud, he could literally hear it.

Within the second, he was by the little one’s side. “You look dreadful, sweet.” The endearment was not exactly, what the boy might want to hear, but it just came naturally to Regulus. And he couldn’t watch his every step around the Malfoy boy, not with how much they already shared.

The kid didn’t seem to care much anyways. He slipped one slender hand into his and squeezed as if in fear to lose his grip. Then he relaxed visibly. “You are really here.”

This was more of a progress, than Regulus could ever have hoped for. The almost written “I miss you” was one thing, but showing it like this was something completely different, especially for pure-bloods. Especially especially for little Tristan Malfoy.

Regulus smiled his best smile ever and used his second hand to cup Tristan’s elbow. “Of course I am. Who else should I be?” He wanted to hug the little one immediately, but stopped himself there. He would be considerate; he would give him time to adjust. He would wait.

Tristan smiled back though, first time really, and dragged Regulus with him to sit down on a simple bed. He didn’t let go of Regulus’ hand even for a second and sighed several times for the loss of words.

Regulus knew the feeling and helped out: “So… got any presents?”

Tristan shook his head and answered still in a hushed voice: “I didn’t expect any. My parents are probably angry.” Then, after some more nudging, he told Regulus, he never cared much about the presents anyways, but that he missed the special atmosphere at the manor during Christmas season. He didn’t cry, plastered against Regulus side, but it was a close thing.

Regulus got a little more courageous and stroked his arm, whispering into his ear: “I think _I_ have a gift for you.”

Tristan declined at once, but he put it off, explaining: “Don’t worry; it doesn’t cost me a thing. When I was 14, Sirius went with me to Muggle London over Christmas. I want to show you.” And that he did. The illusion was far from perfect, but with every small noise of astonishment, his pride swelled and made him add more details, while Tristan watched in childlike wonder.

“That’s… beautiful.”

Regulus couldn’t help but agree, but there was one thing more beautiful in the room. He just… couldn’t tell him. Yet. Or ever.

\-----

Tristan was comfortable enough around Regulus, but sharing the small bed here would have been very different from sharing the big four-poster at Hogwarts. Instead, he let the older boy transfigure a mattress out of some blanket and laid it out in front of the bed.

They just couldn’t figure out, who would sleep where, for each of them was willing to let the other sleep in the presumably more comfortable bed. In the end, they sat down on the mattress, leaning against the bed and fell asleep sitting next to each other. What a waste, really.

But it was so comfortable, slowly relaxing into Regulus’ lap, until his head lay snuggly against the other’s thighs. On some level he noticed that this was dangerous. He just couldn’t bring himself to care much. If Regulus wanted to hurt him, he had ample chance anyways. And Tristan craved the moments of absolute safety, Regulus offered to him, too much to care for the price to be paid later. Whatever that was. He still hadn’t figured it out, and that should have had him at his toes. Only… the longer Regulus was there, the less interesting the question seemed. And when the older boy pulled the blankets down and over him, even the last resort of self-preservation fell. So warm and well-covered he couldn’t sleep with one eye open, it _was_ too good to be true, and he didn’t care.

\----

They woke up, when a very tired and very loud Sirius stumbled back into the room through the fireplace. Regulus was glad he didn’t see them directly, for their position would have been kind of conspicuous. Sirius might have assumed things, that weren’t really there, and no one in his right mind aimed for those “it isn’t, what it looks like”-situations.

The screen though gave them enough of a reaction time, both of them sat upright on the bed, when Sirius peeked around the corner. “Morning”, he mumbled groggily and then: “I’m going to have coffee. Want some?”

Regulus nodded at the same second, Tristan politely declined, and went for the kitchen to have a word or two with his brother, before he headed towards his bed. Of course, he would have to do some explaining, but talking undisturbed was definitely worth it. At school they rarely had the chance and outside… well… outside, they barely ever met anymore.

Sirius welcomed him with a brotherly hug and grinned, though exhaustedly. “Care to tell me, what he is?” He nodded for the living room, just as Regulus shrugged.

“Hell, if I know. Just a lost puppy, I kind of… brought home, I guess.”

Sirius grimaced. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

Regulus had to agree. It really wasn’t him. He shrugged and sighed: “Little pure-blood had a bad time. I figured, I could piss off Lucius Malfoy, when I helped him, and I certainly did. He wants my head now, I guess.”

They shared a happy grin of mischief and then Sirius asked: “Little messed up, though, the boy, hm?”

Regulus nodded. “Be nice with him. He is a very scared child.”

Sirius mused, staring back into the living room and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Thought so. Looked, like he would shit his pants, when you brought him.”

Regulus remained silent to that and changed the topic. “Nice place, though. Sorry, I crashed it like that.” Soon, they were talking about this and that, about Quidditch and plans after school. About everything and anything. It was almost noon, when they were finished and Regulus took his farewell with another hug, after which Sirius went to bed. That was fine. He could leave via Floo without breaking the wards.

\----

“I have to go now.” Tristan knew, it was coming, but it still clenched his guts.

He nodded resigned. “See you at school?” He could have kicked himself in the shin for that stupid sentence. Of course they would. Stating the obvious was a perfect way to look like a fool.

Regulus noticed, but said nothing to it, just took Tristan’s hand one last time. “You care that my brother takes some time for his homework, ok?” Tristan froze. Was this a command? If so, he was utterly fucked. “Or better not. He gets difficult, when I mess with his plans.”

He could see, how Regulus smiled, when he looked far too relieved, but he couldn’t get angry at him. Instead, he did, what he had failed to do all the time, Regulus had been here, because he lacked the courage. He threw his arms around the other boy’s waist and squeezed him for about a second, before quickly retreating.

Like a sacrificial lamb he waited for the verdict, when Regulus caught up, with what had just happened. It wasn’t until Regulus smiled at him and mussed his hair up some more, that he relaxed, just a little. And then… he left.

And Tristan had another one and a half week to go, before he would be back in the safety of the Slytherin dorm. The irony… really. Safety at a Slytherin dorm…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the marauders before they become the damaged and dead. I think, they will play a majore role.  
> By the way: the year I am thinking of, 25th of december was full moon ^^


	6. The pains of gaining friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running into the cold of the night in panic can lead to some unpleasant consequences. Like getting ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going. I love, how Regulus turns out. I start feeling very Slytherin with him. Let me know, if you think, I get that "morally grey" stuff right ;)

Sirius slept all afternoon and most of the night, waking early the next morning. Full moon had been exhausting for him, and he wasn’t even the affected party in that. He certainly knew, why Remus always looked so tired afterwards. But then again: with them at his side, he could manage. And they would do whatever necessary to keep him safe and sane.

The small complication, Regulus had brought upon them wouldn’t change that. Apropos complication… He rose and got dressed to prepare some breakfast. To his own annoyance he had actually noticed, the boy only ate when he was asked and already looked too thin to begin with. Maybe, when Regulus had asked him to take care of his… pet?, he had aimed for a little more than just housing him. And Sirius knew, upsetting his little brother was ill-advised, even for him.

When Sirius stepped into the living room, though, preparing a meal was quickly forgotten. The room smelled of sweat and there was a thrashing noise from behind the screen. He looked around it, to the bed, where Tristan was still sleeping. “Aw, shit.”

The boy was wrapped around the blanket, not the other way around, and bathed in sweat. His skin was red-hot, where the pajamas didn’t cover it and both hair and fabric clung to his sweat-covered skin. He panted and coughed softly, half asleep still.

‘That’s what one gets from running out into the cold without even a jacket on’ Sirius cursed under his breath and studied the situation, summing it up in another string of selected swears.

Tristan was obviously seriously ill. And Sirius couldn’t handle that. He hadn’t been ill a day in his life. And neither had Regulus. Helping a werewolf recover after an intense full moon was hardly the same as nursing an adolescent boy back to health. Grumbling, he straightened the blankets and covered the boy’s body, tugging him in carefully. Then he reluctantly reached for Tristan’s forehead and checked the temperature, unsure, how exactly that was done. It wasn’t that hard though. The skin almost burned under his touch. This couldn’t be right, especially compared to his own.

He would need help as soon as possible, he decided and started a fire call despite the early hour. First Remus, because he always knew what to do and then maybe Lily and James, for a female touch might be what was needed.

Ten minutes and two short and tense conversations later, he changed the wards, so the others could come over and returned to the boy, who by now was awake, coughing violently. He clung to his damp blanket and shivered, for a change not from undeserved fear.

“Let’s get you changed first” he muttered absent-mindedly.

\----

New blankets and pajamas were nice, no matter, how embarrassing the in between, he was too weak and cold to care much anyways. He still shivered, though, no matter, how many blankets Sirius piled on him. It was so bad, he didn’t even have time to be afraid, which was strangely comfortable, for the moment.

He could be fully content just lying here in peace – minus the occasional brutal fit of coughing. He didn’t even object, when Sirius Black removed the folding screen or when the other Marauders and Lily Evans arrived, pooling around him, studying him intently. He didn’t meet their stares though, that was really too much to ask.

After a few minutes Lily sat down next to him, taking his hand into hers. “Tristan? You are really ill, you know that, do you?” He nodded obediently, as she continued. “We need to bring you to St. Mungo’s.”

To that he shook his head firmly and forced out in a hoarse whisper: “Don’t… When my parents find out…” Every word burned through his chest like a white hot knife and left him breathless.

Lilly pondered, looking around for input from the young men around her. “Hogwarts?”

Lupin looked doubting. “If Regulus is right, he is not safe there either.”

Sirius Black nodded in approval and added: “My brother wouldn’t have asked, if it wasn’t necessary.” Then he swore again, kicking the wall in frustration.

They all exchanged perplexed looks, Tristan didn’t really care about. He sank back into the pillows with another shiver, thinking, it wasn’t the worst just to go like that. Cared for and safe, leaving all his problems behind. Only… it was getting better. Regulus wouldn’t want him to give up on life so easily, he would, in contrary be very angry. With that thought, he sat back up, wrapping the blankets tighter around him.

Lily eyed him, with an encouraging smile and grinned suddenly. “I have an idea. Anyone good with memory charms?”

\----

The Muggle doctor was acting very strange, in Tristan’s opinion. Friendly, but odd. He had weird instruments with him, a listening device with a very cold end, he pressed to Tristan’s chest, ordering him to breathe in certain ways, wooden sticks to put into the mouth and a special lamp for the ears. He asked a lot of questions, always in a way that Tristan only needed to nod or shake his head, and despite looking very distant in his white coat, he seemed very concerned for Tristan’s well-being.

He also mumbled, while writing down things on his strange writing board with a strange parchment pinned on it. “Malnutrition, pneumonia, very likely a CPS case…”

Later, he had a similar talk to Lily, who told him, Tristan was only visiting for the holidays and usually lived abroad, hence the lack of a history and the usual “papers”. She also told him about the episode two days ago, but left out enough details not to alarm the doctor further anything was amiss. Then, she asked for his diagnosis and the necessary treatment.

He gave her, what was needed, stating, she couldn’t just buy most of it and was in turn, guided outside with a good portion of Muggle money and a friendly “Obliviate” from Potter.

Tristan felt a little sorry for him; he had been nice. But the overwhelming weight of tiredness just pulled him under, as soon as nobody expected anything of him anymore, and so he just fell asleep.

\----

“We won’t let you do this alone. Don’t even try to dissuade us.” James was adamant and Sirius appreciated it.

He had no real idea how to handle this anyways, so he only objected on principle, letting himself get easily swayed. “Fine… We take turns. And hope, he doesn’t just flee out of bed, when he sees us.” He chewed on his lips frustrated and added. “He so owes me, I swear.”

James and Remus laughed, Peter joined, eager to be part of everything. He was usually a little late, as if to wait, how the others would handle it. They didn’t mind.

Lily stayed serious and sighed: “I doubt it. He can barely keep his eyes open, when he gets his medicine.” She had been most insistent not to leave the boy alone, as long as he was so ill. Lily had a thing for lost puppies and children, endearing her only further to her doting future husband. Sirius and Remus indulged her on his behalf and Peter just went along as always.

“By the way” she added, in an afterthought. “The doctor told me, the pneumonia is only the very last of his problems. I want to keep an eye on him.”

James embraced her, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean” she poked him in the chest insistently. “I mean that I won’t let come further harm to him. I wouldn’t want my future children, _our_ future children be hurt like that, and I think” Another poke. “We should act accordingly.”

That decided it. Lily didn’t put the foot down often, but when she did, James followed. And where James went, the Marauders did, no matter how much they pretended to resist. They would get the boy back to health together. And they would watch out for him back at school. With or without Regulus.

Sirius couldn’t really regret it. Tristan seemed nice enough. And having something on his brother wouldn’t hurt either.

\----

Waking up, coughing, drinking water or some bitter potion, burning, freezing. Hearing people talking, not understanding, what was said. Coughing some more. Hands, softly stroking his hair or wiping the sweat from his face. Coughing, as if to die. Wheezing.

Three days, he was barely aware of anything. Three days, he was willing to die. On the fourth day, he woke up, feeling, well not exactly good. But better. A lot better. Only as if crushed by a giant and unable to move and not please kill me. He looked around and found a half familiar smile, taking his time to connect it with a name. Oh there. Lupin. Remus Lupin. Smiling seemed worth a try and so he croaked lowly: “Water, please?” The smile deepened, and a cup appeared. Lupin helped him raise his head and let him drink.

“You gave us quite some scare.” The words were accusatory, yet the tone implied something else.

He still tried to apologize. “’M sorry.” He coughed and sank back into the pillows, unable to feel anything but tired. Not sorry, not scared, not afraid.

Lupin took his hand and let the thumb glide carefully over its back. “Don’t be. It will be alright.”

Later this day, he had a similar moment with Black, differing only in the potion, he had to swallow again. And then, a little stronger, a little more awake, with Lily. She sang for him, beautiful songs, he had never heard before, her voice soothing and friendly. One part of him just wanted to stay here in this bubble of nothingness, believing, everything would be alright. Or at least not change for the worse. He would be cared for, he would feel no pain, would bear no blame, wouldn’t disgrace himself any more. Another part, far more awake then the rest of him asked very uncomfortable questions. What did they want? Why did they bother? What would it cost him?

Every moment of joy was to be paid with pain. He didn’t dare imagine, what he had coming, after this. The next day he felt strong enough to inquire. Pettigrew was the first, he could ask, and probably a good start, since he seemed to have a similar relationship to the other Marauders as Tristan had with Regulus. “’Xcuse me” he whispered, clearing his throat and reapeating when Pettigrew didn’t understand at first. “What keeps you together?”

“We are friends”, the mousy Gryffindor told him and tried to avoid any additional conversation, leaving Tristan in the dark about the reason for his resistance. It was fine though. He could try with someone else.

Next was Lupin again, and with him, Tristan felt somewhat more courageous, after he had helped him on Christmas Eve. His voice also got better. “I can only imagine, what you might want… in exchange…” he rasped, meeting perplexed amber eyes.

“What do you mean? In exchange.” He offered some more water and Tristan drank gratefully.

“For this… all this. Your efforts. Nothing is ever free of charge. Especially not…” he couldn’t find the right word and settled for “care.”

Remus laughed. “You clearly never had much to do with Gryffindors.” With that, he drew closer, whispering jokingly conspiratorial: “We care for each other and we care for those we like. Completely free of charge. Don’t worry.”

Tristan shook his head. “You’re lying.” He realized, what he had accused the other of instantly and shut up, horrified.

But Lupin just shrugged grinning. “Whatever you say.”

That was the end of it. He didn’t get any further to answers with any of the Marauders and Lily was outright shocked, when he asked. It made his head hurt. The longer he didn’t find the catch, the more worried he got. He would have to ask Regulus later. Though, he hadn’t had given him much of an answer either yet. For a hilarious moment he pondered to ask Lucius about this, imagining the pure disgust forming on his face.

Lucius thought, depending on others was a humiliation all by itself. Everything you couldn’t force someone to do, everything, you had to ask or worse beg for, turned to ashes immediately. The only possible escape, if and when you needed something you couldn’t just take, was payment.

Lucius had told him, everyone knew that. Everyone acted like that. And if he ever couldn’t pay… Tristan remembered the lessons. Always would.

\----

House Black had its advantages, but excitement was none of them. Before even the turn of the year, Regulus was bored to death. He had all his homework done, had studied the syllabus for the next term sufficiently to be prepared, had written a lot of letters to inquire about every single student, who had ever touched his… what had he decided? Yes. Little brother was it. Especially the ones, who did it, after he had declared his claim. And the one, who had sealed Tristan’s fate.

Over the next term, information would trickle in and he would make good use of it. Every time, he thought about it, he found new ways to ensure, they would eagerly regret their misdeeds. He felt so alive, when he did. Revenge was one of his favorite extracurricular activities.

Now, though, there was nothing else to do, but terrorizing Kreacher, listening to Walburga’s endless rambling about the ruin of wizarding kind from the hands of Muggles and Muggleborn (Yes mother, you are right, of course.), and trips to the library. Those offered him a chance though. He produced the list of spells, Tristan could perform versus those, he failed on, and headed for the usually most boring (and most dusty) room in the whole place. He would find Orion there, of course, for after a few days without distraction from outside, even his father couldn’t stand his wife all the time anymore. It made his research a little harder, he had to admit, but that would be fine. He had no idea, where to start anyways.

Aimlessly he wandered along the bookshelves and tried this or that book, leafing through the contents, before putting it back, when suddenly a title caught his attention. It was faded gold on even more faded brown, and he had to step closer to fully decipher it, but it looked promising - “The exception to the rule – shifted cores”.

He took it and turned the first brittle pages, studying them carefully, torn between aversion and fascination. The book was old, its script obscure and peppered with barely readable signs, the language winded and complicated. But, it offered some interesting, though highly doubtful theories. According to the author, some wizards, very rarely, were born with a certain predestined task or profession. They would perform extraordinary within the constraints of their fate. And only there. As example, the author stated the Dark Lords of old, who had great ability for the Dark Arts, but rarely exhibited any interest in “softer” forms of magic. It was of course nonsense. That no one had reported them perform a Wingardium, didn’t mean, they had been incapable of it. It only meant, no one had thought that worthy of a report.

And besides… Tristan was everything, but not a Dark Lord… quite the contrary, in fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I starve for comments. Every one is appreciated. And don't be shy: you can just as easily tell me, what you don't like. I am fine with that.


	7. Bittersweet changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve ends life as it was for Tristan. It might offer some hopes though

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still ahead, I am so happy. I appreciate everyone's kudos, thank you, let me know, what you think, if you have time to spare.

On the last day of the year, Tristan felt still weak and shaky, the ache in his lungs and occasional fits of coughing hat not yet died down, but he could finally sit and talk and eat on his own again. He found it highly disquieting to still find someone at his side at any given moment, but the crippling fear he held for the Marauders had been suffocated by pure exhaustion and the very possible danger of dying.

That didn’t mean, he would suddenly act bold around them, he was still shy and silent, but he wasn’t tempted to bolt at any given moment. Truth be told, he liked Remus most. He had a silent presence, offering, but not enforcing contact. Lily was of course sweet and spoiled him a bit, but she was always only one question away from something that hurt. From facts of life, Tristan didn’t want to talk about. And then, there was Sirius.

Tristan liked Sirius, for all the ways he was like Regulus and for all the ways he wasn’t. It was hard to explain, but he was as close to worship his big-brother-attitude as he could risk. Once the older Black had decided to like him, there were few boundaries to his affection. The only thing, that kept him from rising to the top of Tristan’s favorite persons list, was him being too loud, too reckless, too wild.

Regulus softer tones, and the echo of them, he found in Remus, were more to his liking.

James… well… he wasn’t sure about James. There were moments, when he was so much like Sirius, and then again, he remained distant, observing, as if he didn’t trust the Malfoy boy. Tristan had to admit, he admired that precaution. It was much more appropriate than the open welcome of the others.

Peter, though likeable too, once you knew him, didn’t stand a chance with Tristan. They were too similar in their situation, but ended up with very different decisions based on that. While Peter fawned around the other Marauders, helping, where no help was necessary, just to seem useful, played himself into the foreground where he could and all in all tried to stay in the center of things, Tristan kept his distance. He didn’t refuse help, if he needed it and it was offered, but he never asked on his own. He’d rather try and fail, than bother someone else.

The Marauders oscillated between finding it endearing and annoying, but their time together would end soon anyways. And back in Hogwarts, safely in Regulus’ proximity he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. He could live with being whatever the younger Black needed from him, if it meant only pleasing one master. Those almost men and their differing attitudes were just confusing.

Finishing the thought, he rose and slowly joined Sirius in the kitchen, where he awkwardly leaned against the counter. “I guess, you will be away tonight? As on Boxing day?” His voice was still too soft for his own liking, both from the pneumonia and the shyness.

Sirius turned and grinned. “Nope… Not as Boxing Day. Lily would like us both to come over though, James’ parents will be around…”

Tristan was about to shake his head firmly, when Sirius nudged him gently and added. “Don’t be an idiot, kid, she really likes you. It will be nice. She will bake; Muggle style. Or make mousse au chocolate. You will love that.”

Tristan exhaled doubtingly. “I am not very… sociable.”

That had Sirius laughing out loud. “Yes, I bet.” He patted Tristan’s back and tried to make a serious face again, failing spectacularly, the corners of his mouth twitching happily. “I am tasked to convince you. It will be my head, if you don’t come.”

Tristan thought, he was joking. Or was he? It was so hard to read people, when the fear disappeared and it wasn’t about fight or flight anymore. “Do… do I have to?”

“Merlin, no.” Sirius gave another easy smile, sliding a thumb over Tristan’s cheekbone, so casually the Malfoy boy didn’t even flinch. “But take it from me: keep the women in your life happy, or you will regret it.” He rolled his eyes. “And once they _are_ in your life, you can’t get rid of them anyways.”

\-----

Sirius was happy the little one would come over. James parents were around, and he owed them, oh, how he owed them. Even his place, nice and clean and _his_ : courtesy of Fleamont and Euphemia. He wanted to show them, he was capable of the same.

To keep his eyes and heart open for those in need. To do, what was right instead of what was easy. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy for the boy. Too many people, several new ones too. So, as soon, as they arrived, he confided with Remus to have Tristan covered at all times. Either of them would be around to go for a walk or talk or whatever else he needed. They would shield him from people coming too close and they would see that he got to bed, when it got too much.

Promising this, they tried to make the best of James’ party, it was usually worth it, even more so, now he had his own place and Lily did some of the cooking. Sirius wasn’t fully happy about Lily. Over the years, she had moved from the outskirts of their little outfit to the center stage, until it wasn’t the same anymore. Not the four of them, but James and her, and then the rest. But he really couldn’t argue with her cooking. That was just too good.

And for the time being he had enough on his mind already, not to ponder about James’ dwindling attention to their friendship. He checked that the boy was settled, and then went over to greet the two people, who had saved him, not yet a year ago. “Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter?” He was told a dozen time he was allowed to use their given names and would be told a dozen times more. This wasn’t about distance, but respect. Of course, they asked, how he was doing. Of course, they inquired, if he was well settled in the little cottage, they had handed over to him, some long forgotten part of the Potter estates. And of course, once the initial questions were settled, he had a lively discussion with Fleamont about the growing influence of pure-blood fanatics on the wizengamot.

Until, suddenly, he remembered, he had some responsibilities.

Startled he looked around, the eyes searching for the small Malfoy in his care. When he couldn’t find him at first, he turned around, now visibly nervous. Fleamont furrowed his brow. “What are you looking for, Sirius?” This was when the older Black brother finally found him and his lips were touched with a tender smile. Remus was the best. As if by accident, he had found the darkest, most quiet corner of the room and placed Tristan in it and himself in front, two bowls of mousse in hand and encouraging the boy to eat and talk, both visibly relaxed. It was perfect. Fleamont followed his look and smirked amusedly. “A Malfoy… If the Potters keep adopting at that rate, we will have the sacred 28 full in no time.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh with him. Ironically he felt more at home, more family here than anywhere else in the world. As a matter of course, he told the older Potter, how exactly he came in company of this specific new member of their group and calmed Fleamont’s worries, when it came to the ups and especially downs of the new acquaintance. The older Potter was too much of a pure-blood still to intervene in internal family issues, if not forced by specific circumstances, but Sirius knew for a fact, he cared and would be more at ease, knowing, someone looked out for the boy.

\----

Tristan pulled at Remus sleeve, just for a second, his face growing pale. “Can I go, please?”

For a moment, he older Gryffindor hesitated, checking a tempus charm. “It’s barely eleven.” But looking closer, he nodded and sighed: “I bring you home then.” Without further delay he stood up and guided Tristan to the fireplace, nodding at James and Sirius one last time and then flooing with the boy back to Sirius cottage.

Over there, Tristan stopped him and promised awkwardly: “I will behave, you don’t need to stay.” He didn’t want to bother and he didn’t want to spoil Remus’ evening.

The older boy, no… young man, really, nodded, but stayed at least, until he could check, everything was alright. He was about to leave, when he heard some ticking noise on one of the windows and opened it, to have a look. It ended face to face with a disquietingly big and angry-looking eagle owl that trudged in as soon as he moved away and held its foot out to Tristan demandingly.

Within the second the small Malfoy was fully alert. Getting one of his father’s owls was never a good thing. He took the letter anyways and avoided the sharp beak of the owl with practiced motion. It came as a relief that the owl didn’t wait for him to answer but moved back out of the window as soon as he held the letter in his hands reluctantly.

For a moment he stood petrified, desperately trying to control the feelings that tried to overwhelm him, terror, despair, sorrow. He was really good at that, given enough time. Then, just for a moment, he eyed Remus, unsure, if he should ask him to go or to stay. He didn’t want to be alone in this. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself either. He decided not to influence him at all and concentrated on the letter instead.

Sad thing, he couldn’t even cast the charm to sever a letter and needed to do it by hand, curiously watched by his current company. And his hands shook, making this even more of a disgrace. As he tried to flatten the parchment carefully, a single, singed knut coin fell out of it. He studied it, more agitated by the minute, but didn’t even try to touch it or pick it up. Instead, he concentrated on the grand and voluminous handwriting of Abraxas Malfoy, blinking unwanted tears away to clear his vision.

_This is all of what you are worth in my eyes, and yet, you aim to displease me further. I should have known you disgraced yourself and your family, when you refused to come home._

_Now, that Lucius informed me about the nature of all your misdeeds, I see no other option. Until you come home and fully redeem yourself by appropriate means, you will receive no further help from me. I will, as is expected and laid down in the tradition of our family pay for your education, but expect nothing more from me._

_Every day, you further prove, you are no son of mine, so until you demonstrate your value in my eyes and the eyes of the pure-blood society, you will be regarded as minor member to the house. Don’t force me to withdraw your claim to the name Malfoy as well, for I assure you: There is no place safe in the world for those abandoned by the true wizardingkind._

Again, the words swam before his eyes, while his stomach clenched achingly. He crumbled the parchment between his fists and waited, until the waves of grief had washed over him and ceased into numb nothingness. Then, he kneeled, stretching his arm to pick up the coin.

He had completely forgotten about Remus, until he grabbed his hand and held him back. “Don’t, it could be cursed.”

Tristan freed himself and laughed out, completely void of any joy. “It most certainly is. But there is no way around this. If father wants me punished, it is going to happen.” Exhaling one final time and bracing himself, he closed his hand around the knut.

The pain was as instant as it was severe. The quickly eroding conscious part of him analyzed in cold blood, what the curse did to him. How it burned through his nerves and pulled his muscles so taut, he could feel his bones creaking. How it pulled high pitched childish sobs from his throat. How it spread the taste of burned metal in his mouth.

Over the roar of his own pains, he could hear Remus’ voice. “You need to let go” he yelled, horrified.

Tristan wished he could. But his fist was so tightly clenched around the piece of metal he could feel its edges cutting into his skin. Even pure willpower, little as he had left, would not open his palm anymore. Instead, he let go of his resistance, gave in to the agony. If he was meant to suffer, he didn’t want to hold on remembering it. And if Abraxas meant him to perish, dignity wasn’t worth much anyways.

\----

Remus fought a losing battle against the power, pulling Tristan into a tight ball. He needed all his strength to pull his arm away from the shaking, tense body, but couldn’t keep him still long enough to get a hold on the fist, still tightly closed around the cursed coin. He tried not to think about the pain, he tried to ignore the weakening screams and sobs. He just couldn’t…

The fireplace flared, when Sirius returned, obviously only to check, what took him so long, but he didn’t waste time. He replaced Remus, holding the boy down and his arm outstretched, so that his friend could do, whatever necessary.

Even with their combined strength it was hard, to finally open the boy’s hand and let the coin fall. It brushed Remus’ hand and let him feel the mere echo of the coin’s effect. With a small scream he jerked back.

The dark artifact hit the ground and without human contact fizzled back into cool stagnancy.

Remus swore breathlessly. “That was too close.”

Sirius was by his side immediately and hugged him for a short time firmly. Then they turned their attention to Tristan, who was thankfully unconscious. “Do you know…?” Sirius tried tentatively, and Remus shook his head, fishing for the parchment on the ground. It was empty. At least to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you like my version of the Marauders, they will play a major role, if everything goes as planned (it never does, though ;) )  
> There will be a little Wolfstar, too, later, but since I am mostly in Tristan's and Regulus' perspective and they don't realize yet... ;)


	8. The evidence of brotherly attentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is confronted by both Regulus and Lucius due to the letter of his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still keep up, but I doubt, there will be an update tomorrow (unless my kids are replaced by little angels ;))   
> Anyways: I have fun and thanks for reading, kudos and input. Knowing, someone else has fun too, has always helped me to push on.

Tristan spent his time in the Hogwarts express safely tucked in between Remus and Sirius, the compartment closed and warded, so nobody could even catch a look at him. He tried to tell them not to bother, he tried to convince them to let him just contact Regulus and be done with it: they didn’t listen. In addition, he felt the presence of the cursed coin close by, but safely warded. James had plucked it from the floor without touching it and brought it with him to ensure its safe disarming by one of the professors.

Tristan doubted it would be necessary. Sooner or later, the curse would wear off. Already would have, if he had hold onto it until the end. If Abraxas had wanted him dead already, he would have tried harder. But the Marauders had very different ideas about the turn of events and didn’t let him go, until he was safely back in the halls of the school, and even then, only, when everybody entered the Great Hall, where he needed to take his place at his own table.

Furthermore, he could see Sirius step over to the Slytherin table, where Regulus already waited, irritation written all over his face and talked to him for quite some time, before turning to his own table of Gryffindor. When he left, Regulus was in no better mood than before and Tristan felt, he probably wouldn’t enjoy rejoining the older boy. On the other hand… it would be certainly more pleasant than New Year’s Eve. Interesting, how a single reminder from his father put everything back into perspective. Thank you for that, old man.

\----

Regulus paced. He never would have in front of a fellow Slytherin, which was why he hadn’t returned to his dorm with Tristan in tow immediately but stirred him into another empty classroom. “Tris, what the hell were you thinking, picking the damned thing up?” he growled, once he felt able to face the smaller boy, who sat on a desk in a pile of misery.

“It was surely monitored. Hadn’t I accepted my father’s punishment, he would have found other, worse ways.” His usually lush lips were a thin line, now, but he faced Regulus regardless, as apologetic, as he managed, which was not much, for the moment. It was obvious, he felt, he had a point.

And to be honest, Regulus strongly suspected that he was right. It still hurt to admit, this was beyond his influence, at least for now. He exhaled and changed the topic. “What did he write?”

Tristan looked even less happy now, but refrained from letting his head sink. “Nothing, out of the ordinary, really. He cut me off. Will pay for nothing but the school. Says, I will stay “minor” in his house, until I prove my value.” His voice was as thin as his lips, the pain in full view for Regulus, close to him.

“He can’t let you go in rags or something” he exclaimed.

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care.” But when Regulus pulled him closer, rested Tristan’s head against his chest and shielded him with his body, he cried anyways, silently, helplessly. Regulus let him, meanwhile murdering Abraxas in his mind in a thousand different ways, one more painful than the last.

\----

Later that evening, they were already in bed, the curtains closed, warded and silenced, Tristan lay awake in the darkness and brooded in silence, until he was sure, Regulus was asleep. But when he sat up to go for the bathroom and linger on his thoughts some more, making his body feel as miserable as his mind in the cold, Regulus’ opened his eyes again and pulled him back.

“What will we do now?” For the first time, since Tristan really knew him, he wasn’t already two steps ahead, and it was probably for the better.

“ _We_ won’t do anything, I guess. It’s not your problem, after all. It’s mine. And I… have no idea yet.” He pulled himself up and leaned against a bedpost, staring into the darkness, willfully ignoring Regulus’ face.

The older boy bared his teeth snarling and sat up next to him. “I don’t think so. You are mine now.” His hand wandered along Tristan’s arm, until he could squeeze his shoulder, none too gently and jerk him into yielding.

But this time Tristan needed to hold on; it was too important to back down. “That’s not our agreement. You told me, you’d take care, no one bothered me. Not to… provide for me. To risk the wrath of my father or such.” He faced Regulus to give the statement more weight.

The older boy studied his face for a moment in silence and kept holding onto his shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise. “Does it bother you?”

Dumbfounded Tristan stared at him, closed his eyes then and leaned back very slowly, as if the very act of drawing breath was a herculean task.

“Does it?” Regulus dug deeper, giving another jerk.

Tristan still didn’t answer. Instead he looked at his companion with worry. “Regulus, please. I don’t hold you onto the promise. I give your word back to you.”

“Why?” The question came like a whiplash and hurt as much.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s my problem; I wouldn’t want to take responsibility for your pains.”

Tristan’s thoughts raced, trying to find reasoning to make Regulus let go, but before he could find any, the older boy growled: “I don’t want my word back. I stand by it.”

“Then…” Tristan clenched his jaws and lashed out. “Then I will… break mine. I will disobey you, I will…” It sounded hollow, even to himself. Breaking his word, especially like that, was unthinkable. No matter, what he claimed.

“Will you?” Regulus whispered dangerously low.

Tristan shook his head hopelessly. “It’s dishonorable.” His head hanging low, he pleaded one last time: “Can’t you just let go?”

Instead of a direct answer, Regulus pulled him into an embrace. “You are my little brother now, and I will show you, how a big brother should behave. How Sirius treated me.”

\----

A few days went by, almost undisturbed. As if the Christmas holidays and everything that happened in their duration had been nothing but an illusion. Ok… Maybe not everything, Regulus mused. He couldn’t look at Tristan anymore and not smile, remembering that boyish smile, when he showed him the Christmas lights of London or the joy, when the boy recognized him or the beauty of his relaxed features, when they weren’t tainted by fear and self-hatred.

But the illness, the letter and the cursed coin faded into the background against their daily tasks. Regulus was not particularly fond of routines, no matter how well-adapted to his parents expectations he seemed, but he began to love this one. Waking up, facing a sleeping (or at least sleepy) Tristan, preparing for the day, breakfast and an exchange of looks and sometimes words with Sirius or sometimes Remus, escorting Tristan to his classes, attending his own, lunch, often very fast, so he could meet with his protégé before the next classes to do some catch-up, late classes, then library or dorm for the homework. And last, but very much not least, going to sleep with the sight of a relaxed and content Tristan, tucked in at what was now his side of the bed.

Until, one evening, Tristan didn’t come out of the bathroom after the usual period he needed to get ready for bed. It was only a few minutes, before he slipped back into the room and Regulus wouldn’t have paid it any mind, if it wasn’t for the fact that details mattered, with Tristan. And the sudden feeling that something was, just slightly, off.

Confused he stopped the little Malfoy, before he could hop into their bed and hide under the blanket, to study him more closely. Tristan halted, shifting from one leg to the other uneasily but offering no explanations or resistance. Just, when Regulus, was about to just ask, he inhaled. And frowned.

Didn’t Tristan just shower? So where was the usual smell of green apple and mint, he had learned to appreciate? When he gave another sniff, the smaller boy faltered, very slowly and softly admitting: “It’s empty”, before freeing himself from Regulus’ touch and sitting down on the bed, concentrating fully on not giving any feelings away.

Regulus didn’t answer, staring at him for a long time. “You could have just asked” he wanted to say, only to realize, what it would mean. Even Tristan Malfoy, beaten and probably worse, had some pride left.

“I can…” he almost started, stopping just in time, knowing, the boy wouldn’t want to hear it.

For the first time, it hit him full force, what it meant, to have no allowance, no support, no whatsoever. It made him furious. He wanted to rip someone’s throat on Tristan’s behalf, he wanted to… But it wasn’t helpful. It was dumb and irresponsible and outright disrespectful.

Instead, he sat down next to the smaller boy and pondered his options. What could he do to spare Tristan further humiliation? Suddenly a smile spread over his face and he cleared his throat noisily, before deadpanning: “I didn’t like it anyways. You will use what I give you. And that’s an order.”

Tristan glanced at him and snorted in disbelief, but then a small smile caught in the corner of his mouth, when he shook his head. “You are… unbelievable.”

Out of instinct (and honestly, because he had wanted to all evening) he softly headbutted Tristan’s temple and grinned. “No, I only have very firm wishes.”

\---

Maybe Regulus class ended late, maybe he had just been caught up in a conversation, maybe he had just been careless, but when Tristan, in his usual modus operandi left the classroom as late as possible, he wasn’t there. He doubted it was a mere coincidence, when Lucius turned around the corner passed him by, almost bumping his shoulder into Tristan’s with an arrogant gesture, then turning around to stop just behind him.

Tristan felt his hackles rise and had a hard time not to let his face show anything. He knew better than to turn too, or to step forward. It would only tell Lucius, his little trick still worked all too well. Instead, he snarled: “What do you want?”

He could _feel_ Lucius’ malicious grin. “Oh… Nothing, nothing… mere chance, I walked by.” With an almost fond gesture he slid his palm over the lining of Tristan’s robe. “I would have bet you weren’t even here, but at Malfoy Manor, lying on the floor before father’s feet, begging for his forgiveness.” The sound of him, licking his lips luxuriously drove another unpleasant shiver down Tristan’s spine.

He didn’t bother to answer. Nothing, he could say, would change anything of what was going to happen. Instead, he tried his best to look unshaken.

The veil of composure, though, didn’t survive the next assault: he trembled visibly, when Lucius breathed into his ear: “If I was already Lord Malfoy, I wouldn’t have gone so easy on you. You would not only kneel at my side, begging to obey my orders. The mere thought of resistance would be purged from your pitiful existence.”

His voice almost failed him, when he forced out: “You think he went easy on me?” On a sudden impulse, he turned and stared straight into Lucius’ eyes. “You think you can break me?” With each word, he grew louder, until he almost but not quite screamed. “You think you can hurt me more, than I have been already? Do things to me that have not already been done? You think you can even hold a candle to father?” He stopped, breathing heavily and whispered, eyes closed: “Think again, Lucius.”

For a moment the mask of untouched serenity on his brother’s face wavered and gave room to anger and surprise. Only, when he was back to his usual ice cold self, Lucius hissed: “I swear, you will regret that.”

But he had driven Tristan too far. “I guess, I will” he said coldly, and continued: “You still _can_ hurt me. But you better don’t try it with the people around me. In difference to me, they do not turn the other cheek.”

Lucius had a last weapon in his hand, and he was willing to use it. “Running back to your protector, are you? You even smell like him now. Very dedicated, I admit.”

This time, though, Tristan was prepared. His eyes glinting in well-controlled anger, he answered: “You know, why I am, Lucius. But judging by your gloating, House Malfoy must be a lot less wealthy than I assumed. When the little, Abraxas spent on me, perceptible lowers your future income.” He knew he had scored a hit, when Lucius backhanded him brutally. Even with his eyes full of tears and blood trickling from his lip, he still smiled. “Good luck, heir apparent.”

\----

Regulus got a very bad feeling, when Lucius Malfoy passed him on his belated way to Tristan’s class. He didn’t look very triumphant, but you never knew. Instantly he sped up, searching with eager eyes for his self-declared little brother.

Turning around the corner, he stopped dead. The smaller boy had never been so perfect. Hair unruly, split lip dripping with blood, the collar of his robe torn, he still radiated a strength, never seen on him before. Regulus couldn’t help but stare. Only, when the adrenaline in the boy faded and he visibly sagged, the younger Black brother rushed to his side and placed his arms around Tristan’s waist, stabilizing him, scanning him for additional damage. “Are you hurt?”

Tristan shook his head and leaned into his side. His eyes flickered, almost madly, but the spark weakened soon, leaving him in a state of fragility, where he fully depended on Regulus’ support. It was happily offered. Merlin… how could he be so incredibly beautiful?

Regulus abandoned the thought immediately, though, and concentrated on getting Tristan away from the corridor and to his next classroom. A small healing charm later, he was ready for his next lessons. But despite the harmless outcome of this confrontation Regulus promised himself, never to let it happen again.

It was pure luck, nothing worse had happened. He would have to make sure, this didn’t repeat. And if that meant, asking the Marauders’ help again, so be it. _This_ Tristan was definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, this chapter doesn't break Tristan's character, but it felt right to have him finally lash out and not take it anymore. I mean, Regulus has provided him with both the means and the confidence, so... Here we are.


	9. The comforts of small progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan finds means to support himself, Regulus finds means for revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud, I still manage to update regularly, and hope to get far, for on 1st of February I will have to start a new job... Means less time for this.

Tristan’s possibilities ran thin, and so did his patience. He wouldn’t rely solely on Regulus, no matter, how much the older boy wanted to help him. He had lost the fight to keep him out of the matter completely, but he would not give up his pride so easily.

He would find other sources of income, no matter how small, and would make do with them. He had never needed much, for there had never been much provided. So maybe, if he spoke with the headmaster, there would be solutions. And if it was only to get a trip to Gringotts, for there was a certain possibility, his grandmother had left him something not tied to the Malfoy family vaults, which he might still be entitled to. It would help, however little it was.

Unfortunately this meant talking to teachers first, which he usually avoided. Being the barely recognizable kid in the background had served him well for a long time and he hesitated to leave this anonymity…

\----

To say, Dumbledore was a sentimental fool without intimate understanding of the situation of dark pure-blood families was the most blatant understatement of the day in Tristan’s opinion. On the plus side this meant, he was allowed to check his possessions at Gringotts in company of a teacher and was granted the possibility to make himself useful in service of certain employees for a small compensation, not unlike a detention, but paid. He would still need to find out, if this was viable and provided him with enough opportunity, but it was a start.

The negative however, outweighed this by far. He could expect neither protection nor any kind of real support from the famous and by all accounts mighty wizard. As per usual, he would have to rely on more insidious means. Dumbledore, as a member of a “light” family, either didn’t deem the child of a dark one fit for help or remained oblivious to what it meant to be such. And Tristan decided, not to be the one to enlighten him. He had enough on his plate already without all the unsavory pitying to be expected.

So, once he had finished his talk, or more like cringey sob-story (he despised himself for it), he returned to Regulus, willing to pay the price for not quite disobedience, but at least evasion. He had no idea, how the younger Black would handle it, but he knew for a fact, punishment was in order. Regulus couldn’t let it slip, if only to reestablish or ensure the necessary respect.

Strangely, he almost craved it, longed for it as another sign of care, possibly even affection. The more personal the sentence, the better.

It was hard to face the facts, but knowing, that for most of his life, the only touch, even resembling intimacy, had been painful, he accepted this part of himself without hesitation. Pain paid for joy, and it would be joy to feel pride rise in Regulus eyes, when he realized, Tristan offered retribution willingly and submitted himself to his protector’s authority. Or so Tristan liked to think.

\----

“You will be mad at me” Tristan spoke softly, but with almost anticipation, suspiciously eyed by Regulus.

The older boy sat down at his desk and waved him closer. “About what.” Not even a question, just an order to spill the beans.

Tristan stepped closer than he ever had willingly during the last term and scratched the back of his neck, looking just a little cheeky. It was, to Regulus surprise, a pleasant sight. “I know, I shouldn’t go behind your back. I just… I am not….” He coughed softly, using the moment of distraction to clear his thoughts. “I don’t want to be a charity case. I talked to the headmaster and I can make some pocket money here. If you let me.” His speech sped up, as if he tried to get everything out, before Regulus would interrupt. “It won’t be much, but it’s mine. And I… I’d value your approval.”

Again, Regulus was at loss. This unbelievable little… brother… seemed to deliver a new turn of his story at every new corner. Since he had gained some confidence, he never quite stayed on the path he was supposed to walk. It was as irritating as it was strangely pleasing. By now, Regulus could see why Tristan’s father had become exasperated with him. But in difference to him, he could also see the benefits. The boy was clever, resourceful and made the best of the hand he was dealt. If you could live with some unpredictability, he was about to astonish in the best possible way.

Still, he couldn’t let this get out of hand. Even Tristan expected to be rectified. Regulus wouldn’t skip it, though he needed to find a delicate balance. He didn’t want to hurt the little Ravenclaw, didn’t want to destroy the trust between them, he didn’t want to disappoint or lose his respect either. He thought very soundly about it, before he finally decided: “I will let you work. But you will need to get each assignment approved by me. In return you will behave more like a pure-blood boy, as I expect from you. You will only sit down in class, at the meals or when I tell you to. You will start answering in full sentences and stop stumbling around the words.” To that, he gave Tristan an almost fondly devilish grin. “If you fail any of the requirements, you will ask me for retribution. And I will deal it.” They both knew, it meant corporal punishment, they both knew, it would be nothing; barely the humiliation would hurt noticeably. It was but a soft slap to the fingers. Merely acknowledging, Tristan granted him the authority. It was frightening, but also frighteningly tempting.

In all 28’s name, he wasn’t ready to be the head of a house yet. But Tristan treated him thus.

\----

The halls of Gringotts were strangely empty in the early morning. He had been here only once or twice in his life and never on his own behalf. Back then, he had been fascinated, his curiosity only stopped by the very real threat of harsh punishment, when he left his guardian’s or father’s side. Now, the threat was more direct.

For once, Professor Flitwick had been less than happy to accompany a student, he knew next to nothing about, although he had been a Ravenclaw all along, to Diagon Alley this early. It was probably less the task though, and more the fact, that little Tristan had been able to hide this good this long.

Furthermore, the sharp stares of the goblins, now directed at him, and only him, made Tristan fidget nervously, until he noticed and stopped it. Barely.

And last, but not least, the outcome of this day was of great importance to his future. His grandmother, Aristina Lovegood had been very fond of him, always stating, he was the only of her grandchildren who took after her. He also promised, she would provide for him, before she died. But he never knew, if she actually had. And if she had been able to arrange it behind Abraxas back and out of his reach. Tristan doubted it, but he needed to try still.

So he stepped forwards to the counter, when the goblin sitting there, waved him forward. “Name?” Tristan exhaled, unsure, how to handle the situation, as he had never interacted with non-human sentient beings before. The professor nudged him in the back, so he quickly answered, slightly hoarse.

The goblin nodded gravely and continued: “What is your request today?”

“I…” He prayed to his voice, not to fail him for once. “I wish to assess any fonds and revenues registered to my person. Please.” Was it ok to say please? He would need to ask Regulus about that. And probably gain his first punishment, because he should have known.

The goblin looked, like it wasn’t custom. He seemed surprised, but didn’t linger. Instead, he bowed over his ledgers, checking something and writing down some more. Then, he produced a tablet, made from white stone and adorned with inlays from a dark metal. He requested Tristan to put his hands on it and studied it intently. Once the young Malfoy complied, it lighted up slightly. The goblin nodded with satisfaction, took it back and handed Tristan a roll of parchment instead. It looked a little like one of those great House Estate registries, but far more humble. Opening it, Tristan registered three entries. The first was very modest trust fund, opened by Abraxas Malfoy on behalf of his education on his eleventh birthday. He wouldn’t be able to access his, and he wouldn’t want to either. It paid for his school and supplies. He needed that. The second was a much smaller allowance, courtesy of his mother, available, once he came of age. Which, in the circumstances of this law and his father’s decision, would probably be never. It was the third, that gave him hope. Grandma Aristina had entitled him with the earnings of a small wizarding estate in Godric’s Hollow. Once he left school, oh thank Merlin for her foresight not to tie it to his coming of age again, he would be able to fully act as landlord of the property. For now, the stewardship fell to the Lovegood family.

This was good news, as they were a light family and probably wouldn’t try to deny him his rights on the property, especially, since he was in real need…

\-----

Names… Finally names. Regulus tucked the parchment, barely two inches squarely, into the pocket, where he kept his valuables. Three Ravenclaws, two of them 5th years like him, the third a 7th year. He had little on them. Yet. But they had dared to touch his possessions, without asking very politely, and damaged it, him, in the process. Time to act like the head of house, Tristan saw in him. The boy wouldn’t want him to do, what he planned, he knew, but this was beyond his decision. Punishment was absolutely necessary, at the very least to keep his face. And then… because he really, really wanted too.

He used the next meal to assess the culprits closely, without them even noticing. He generally had an eye on the Ravenclaw table these days anyways.

Tibian Allium was nothing but a follower. He would crack easily under pressure. He generally agreed with everyone around him and didn’t do his family much good, for he was drawn into trouble easily. Regulus intended to ease his sentence in favor of making him his tool of revenge.

The 7th year, Porthos D’Livree, would be an easy target, if he acted fast. He was at Hogwarts, because he had to leave his original school in France already. Regulus would make sure, he wouldn’t be able to complete his NEWTs here either.

The only real Problem was Quirin Travers. Another part of the sacred 28 families. But his was a light family. Maybe his demise would be the worst. Fatal even. Regulus smiled contently.

\----

The professors looked out for their houses and usually settled on academic excellence or the qualities typical for their houses. Brave Gryffindors, smart Ravenclaws, hardworking Hufflepuffs, resourceful Slytherins. But not everyone fitted into the stereotypes. Not everyone fitted anywhere at all. Poppy Pomphrey had a heart for those lost little souls, for sooner or later, they ended up with her. Sometimes often.

And Poppy did for them, what she could. As she was now. In righteous fervor, she marched into the Headmaster office, stopped before the desk, where Albus Dumbledore sat and read and stood, her hands firmly at her hip. “Albus, I really can’t believe it.”

The headmaster furrowed his brow and absent-mindedly pointed to the seat in front of him. “Lemondrop?” On her decline, he continued: “What is it, then?” the voice all friendly and amiable. But Poppy Pomphrey was annoyed and didn’t want to be calmed down. With a harsh movement she sat down, stiff as a poker and eyed the bearded wizard. “You don’t really expect the little Malfoy to try and work his way around the castle with the likes of Hagrid, or worse, Filch, do you?”

Dumbledore shrugged noncommittal and sighed: “He asked me about the possibility, and I granted it. What else do you think, I should have done?”

Poppy seethed. “Asking me, of course. He can assist in the Infirmary. I’d gladly take him. He has good manners and a quiet presence, he will do well.”

“Oh well, I would have never thought of that” the Headmaster smirked contently, causing Poppy Pomphrey to eye him distrustfully.

“Anyways. I will take him, if you have no objections?” she assured, and nodded forcefully on his approval.

“See, that he attends his classes, though.” The resolute witch gave him a death glare. As if that ever was in question!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, kind of a filler, but some things need to happen, before the angsty stuff and the action happen. I am still content. I like to think of Tristan as almost-Slytherin and it shows, I hope. Let me know, what you think.


	10. Setbacks and coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus' schemes go just as planned, until they don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud, I keep my pace, tomorrow's update almost done too... Enjoy

Oh, the great and mostly forgotten art of keeping people on their toes. Regulus was nothing but an amateur, he knew, though he aimed to learn, but sometimes, it was just too easy. Tibian Allium had after all several classes with him. Whenever he saw him, whenever the opportunity arose, he flashed him a knowing smile. Followed him around in the breaks, where Tristan had doubles and wouldn’t need his help, took care to be around, when he headed for the library, the Great Hall or whatever.

He even left Tristan in Sirius’ or Remus’ care at times, excusing himself with preparations for his OWLs. If there was an OWL in plotting, he would have taken it. It was even more believable, since he really did work for his OWLs from time to time.

And Sirius and Remus were happy to help out, just to have a little chat with the small Ravenclaw. Somehow the holidays had turned them very protective. This left Regulus’ hands free, whenever he needed. And he found, Tibian was hardly a difficult target. After only a few days, he began to crack. Whenever he saw Regulus, even before the Slytherin saw him, he flinched. He tried to be late on lessons to choose his seat after Regulus did, he tried to eat his meals at uncommon times. To no avail. Regulus always caught up with him.

The final move was almost disappointingly simple. During double charms, Regulus arranged for the only free space left for the Ravenclaw to be right next to him. And when Tibian sat down, he smiled radiantly. “I think, you will want to tell me something after class. Am I mistaken?” he whispered innocently. Ravenclaws were usually clever enough to catch a threat without being too obvious about it.

This one was no exception. He shook his head quickly and added. “After class.” Then, he buried his head in his book, lest he accidently needed to interact with Regulus again. He needed not fear. The younger Black brother was politeness incorporated.

\----

“And then… we held him down and Travers… did the deed.” Regulus heard Tibian Allium come to the end of his description. His stomach rumbled, and obviously so did the Ravenclaws, as he added, almost gagging: “He didn’t even move anymore. He just… lay there.” He looked away, deeply guilty and ashamed.

Once he had started talking, he had spilled it all. How he like others had received certain favors from Tristan. How, once Regulus had intervened, the boy refused to offer anymore. How Quirin Travers had decided, he didn’t like his toys to be taken away. How he had done, what he thought would ensure, precious little Tristan behaved again like he was supposed to.

At first, Regulus had been angry. He had to clench his fist around the edges of the table he was sitting on, just to restrain the urge to beat Tibian up beyond recognition. Then, he had been appalled, barely able to listen on, although he owed it to his friend.

In the end, cold determination pulled all the other feelings into a tight ball, enabling him to go on breathing, planning, plotting. When Tibian fell silent, he watched him carefully, internally throwing the coin again and again, until he felt, he could live with the result. “You will help me. And in return… I will let you live. I will not punish you. I will see, that you remember your guilt.”

Tibian nodded hopelessly. He already knew, it was the best deal, he would get. And he deserved nothing better.

\----

How quickly places could completely change their meaning, was a mystery to Tristan, but it was true nevertheless. The infirmary, he had dreaded once, was now a place of happiness. In the beginning, he had felt bad, when he was paid for reading, but, as Madam Pomphrey had quickly pointed out – he really couldn’t help much, if he wasn’t prepared, and the curriculum of Hogwarts was far from sufficient for his new duties under her supervision. He only hoped, what he read would work, when he needed it, his shaky record of working spells left him not very hopeful.

She also made him take extra lessons with Professor Slughorn on the major healing potions, so she wouldn’t have to rely on the somewhat erratic old man, when push came to shove, or worse: on ministry supply. Apart from that, his tasks were not all pleasant, a lot of cleaning, some of it very unsavory, was involved, but did that really matter? He had done worse in detention, and no matter how nasty the task, Madam Pomphrey never aimed to humiliate him, as the professors often did, but thanked him, when it was finished.

And each time after work, Regulus would wait for him, not saying much, but looking content and a little proud. It was as perfect, as it could get. It was bound to end soon, he knew, but he was past caring. If the pain would come anyways, he would at least take the joy and relish it.

\----

Being rushed was something, Regulus despised, and for good reason. Making up along the way never presented the same advantageous outcome as good planning. But sometimes you had no choice. If he wanted to make sure, it really made a difference for D’Livree he had to act fast. Otherwise he would just take the tests for his NEWTs without further schooling, instead of being left without a degree. A little bad reputation would stick, true, but it was not the reprimand Regulus intended it to be.

So making along it was. He took some days to study his target and discretely gathering information. The Frenchman was a troublemaker but he wasn’t much of a student. And he wasn’t much of a fighter either, although he tried to seem like one to charm the girls. By choice, he fit the cliché of a womanizing swashbuckler with lots of pride and little patience. Together with his French accent, this seemed to work for him.

But then again… It worked for Regulus now. He could rely, if not on D’Livree’s pride then on his need to keep the looks up. He waited, until there was a new girl, the 7th year laid his eyes on. It was easy enough to spot, he wasn’t used to subtlety. So much for refined Frenchman… He then started his own progress on her, never implying something serious, just a general… interest. Too little to give anything away, enough to give him excuse for everything. He didn’t intend to break her heart and, at least to her, made it very clear, he only wanted to be friends. Porthos D’Livree didn’t know that, though.

Slowly, looking so very accidental, he let the hostility escalate.

\----

Tristan shrunk in the seat opposite to the Ravenclaw’s house head. How a man, so small as Flitwick still could look down on him, okay, in a heightened seat, but still, was beyond him. But even without that, the meeting made him uneasy. What did the teacher really want from him?

Alarmed he watched, as Flitwick cleared his throat and then started: “I have been made aware of your rather… unique situation, Mr. Malfoy” he began, leaving Tristan helplessly irritated. He hated people stating the obvious. Not trusting his voice to stay low and meek, he just shrugged and waited for the professor to go on.

“If it was for your achievements during this year, I wouldn’t think, you should bother with continuing your education at all. Charms, Defence, Transfiguration… all very mediocre. Granted, you excel in Runes, Arithmancy, Potions… but…”

Tristan fidgeted in his seat, staring straight ahead to the surface of the desk, praying, Flitwick would state his purpose.

“Well, if it wasn’t for your excellent performance at the infirmary I would have opted for your removal from the student’s body.”

Tristan closed his eyes, breathing elaborately. “What is it, you want from me?”

“How about an explanation for your… underperformance?” Now, that he forced himself to look at Flitwick, he saw no anger, but a strange curiosity, which, under the circumstances seemed even more dangerous.

‘With all due respect, sir, you couldn’t bother less for the past four years, and now, you discovered, I am actually a student of yours, you suddenly feel ashamed, I lower the average performance of your precious house?’ He didn’t say it. Of course not. Even before his agreement with Regulus he wouldn’t have. And now, it wasn’t just his reputation he needed to account for. So he remained silent, until he could safely assume, he would be able to put on the meek face again. “I struggle with certain spells, sir. Practical work does not come easily to me.” Maybe the admittance would appease the professor enough to let go.

Only…”You seem to work just fine in the infirmary.”

Tristan cursed silently. “I am sure to encounter a spell, that won’t work for me soon. I was just lucky until now.” ‘Or maybe I am just a lazy brat, relying on his father’s riches and influences to stay in school, until I can join the real world to waste my inheritance.’ Tristan bit his lip to stop the bitter thoughts from becoming actual words, clenching his fists to stop their shaking in impotent rage. “I will do my best to perform better, sir.”

Being dismissed had never been more of a relief.

\----

The threat of a dismissal from school was enough to bring both Tristan and Regulus back to their toes. They needed to find out, why some spells worked perfectly well for the younger Malfoy, and some just didn’t. Without a good rationale, anything could happen.

In the meantime Regulus tried to teach Tristan some spells again, usually hidden somewhere near the Quidditch field or in some hidden classroom. Anything from first year charms to OWL-level. Most were complete failures. His “Expeliarmus” was a joke, as was his “Incendio” and he couldn’t manage even the simplest hexes at all. If he should have known the spell and didn’t manage, no amount of tutoring changed that.

Regulus almost gave up on Defense for Tristan, but tried one last spell, he had always wanted to do, but from which his father has always warned him, because it was so “light” that it got dark wizards into serious trouble. “Try a Patronus charm.”

Tristan looked doubtful. “The thing with good memories? I do not have a lot of them, you know?”

Regulus poked him softly and grinned. “Try anyways. If this is a thing about light and dark spells, you should manage.”

Tristan closed his eyes obediently, while a smile slowly appeared upon his face. Regulus could only imagine, what he saw, but liked the outside view anyways. “Expecto Patronum!” As usual, Tristan’s wandwork and pronunciation was near perfect. Not as usual, it happened: it was not actually a real patronus, just a slightly formed silvery cloud, but it was definitely there. On first attempt.

Regulus gaped, just for a second, then grinned. “Looks, like we have a theory.”

It wasn’t a good one, really. Some of the spells, Tristan couldn’t cast definitely counted as light too. On the other hand: they hadn’t found any dark ones he could cast, yet.

\----

It had been a bad day. Tristan had had Wards in Charms, and it had turned out very disappointingly. He just couldn’t do it. Regulus wished nothing more than to figure it out. It had started as a mystery, but be now his heart burned, whenever his little brother looked so crestfallen. And having nothing, nothing to comfort him left always a bad feeling in his guts.

His own day hadn’t been much better. The girl he had not quite courted to get a reaction out of the damned Frenchman had told him to get lost. She didn’t want to be pulled into that particular feud. So much for planning.

At least Tristan wouldn’t work today, meaning, they had the whole evening for homework and some talking. And maybe he would find some way to comfort the younger Malfoy.

In the spur of a moment, he decided to start right now and halted, only a few corridors away from the Great Hall and dinner. “Listen, it’s not your fault, I know…”

Tristan stopped too, turning to him and nodded silently, but smiling gratefully, when Regulus took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. It was a sad smile, but better than nothing really. Regulus would have been content with even less and allowed himself a moment of silent delight.

The noise of steps and talking interrupted him and he turned towards it, ready to show his displeasure. He found himself facing the very person that started his bad mood in the first place, Porthos D’Livree, equally angry, wand already in his hand.

‘Not yet’, Regulus’ inner voice screamed. ‘I am not ready yet, I didn’t push you over the edge either. Not yet!’ He was to slow, to do anything else.

“Confringo*!” the older boy yelled and aimed at Regulus, who dodged the first attempt, but not the next. “Confringo, you bastard.”

Pain exploded, then… darkness.

*Confringo is an explosion hex and can lead to extended injuries or even death if applied strong enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger, I promise, you won't be hanging for long, though. I am kind of proud of the chapter, although the end might be just a little rushed. If you have any ideas, how to improve it, just let me know.


	11. Paying off debts in the worst way possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack on Regulus, he tries to make sense of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news: tomorrows update is already finished. The bad: I am not sure, how much time I will have to go further...

“Don’t think, you are rid of me, you little shite” the Ravenclaw boy, Tristan didn’t even know his name, remarked snidely, pulling at his collar, planting a rough bite onto his lips, and attempted to kick the smaller boy. But the small Malfoy didn’t even fully register it, falling to his knees aside Regulus’ unmoving, bleeding body.

He heard the sound of footsteps, leaving, and others closing in, but he didn’t mind either, his whole universe consisted only of his friend’s pain and injury. But hell… He had practiced healing charms for a month at least, now.

It had to count for something. Determinedly he forced his breathing to slow, his mind to focus, his hands to find their places, one on the body to guide the energy, the other on his wand. Then he started weaving spell after spell, each carefully complementing the last, reciting the right order to do things. Conserving life energy, stop bleeding, begin to repair.

People came, people shouted, people pooled around him. He didn’t care; he worked, literally pushing his own magic into the other boy’s body to keep him alive. On and on and on and on. As long as it would take, as long as it was necessary.

He didn’t stop, until a familiar hand was placed above his own, and the feisty school nurse, Madam Pomphrey gave him a smile. “I take it from here.” Then he sank back, more tired than he had ever been in his life. He felt as if literally part of his life force had been transferred to keep Regulus alive. If so, he could really quite live with it. Or not, if it had been too much. Either way, he closed his eyes, leaning against the wall and relaxed. Everything would be fine.

\----

Madam Pomphrey knocked at the door uneasily and, once it opened, slid in, dropping the mask of being only slightly concerned in the process. “Septima, we need to talk. Could you make time for me?” she asked politely and sighed relieved, when the reserved witch offered her a seat and tea. She accepted both and clicked with her tongue, when Septima Vektor sat down at her side.

“Poppy, you look quite shaken. Is everything in order?” Most people hated her rather dry ways, but Madam Pomphrey appreciated it. The fussing of most people annoyed her to no end, probably because she had to deal with concerned parents and schoolmates all the time. She would have preferred to keep her comforting to the people needing it, her patients and the next of kin or close friends, but that never happened. Everyone seemed entitled to her attention. Septima was a pleasant exclusion, she only needed the facts.

“I take it, you heard about the incident between Porthos D’Livree and Regulus Black?” She sank back into the cushions behind her back and sipped some very strong tea. Ah, just like she preferred it.

“That Mr. D’Livree attacked from behind and almost killed his victim?” It was obvious she avoided the word “opponent” on purpose. “We discussed it in the teacher’s council, yes. Will Mr. Black be back to full health?”

Poppy Pomphrey smiled sadly. “In due time. Less than I first anticipated. But that’s not, why I am here.” She pondered a moment. “Or maybe it is. In a way.”

Septima Vektor only tilted her head, giving her time to sort through her thoughts until she could explain herself.

“Tristan Malfoy witnessed the whole incident and saved Regulus Black by very proficient first aid procedures.” She hesitated, although it was the whole point, why she was here, shrinking some under Septima’s inquisitive gaze.

“You must be very proud” the cool and controlled witch offered carefully.

Madam Pomphrey nodded. “I am. But then… some things he did… I didn’t teach him. He read some books of course. But…” Time for some unpleasant truths, she decided and went on. “One of the spells, a very strong one, is dark. I don’t know where he got it from. Transfer of live energy. Only one step away from blood magic. It’s… he shouldn’t have done it. Or more precisely, he should not have been able to.”

Septima seemed unfazed. Silently she took some sips of her own tea and pondered placidly, until reaching a conclusion. “And now you ask yourself, if Albus should know?”

On the nurse’s nod, she continued: “You may ask yourself this: did he cause damage or pain with this? Was it for good reason? Did it save the injured boy. And: would Albus Dumbledore be able to look beyond his own… experiences and judge fairly?”

Madam Pomphrey snorted. “You have made your decision at least, I see. And yes… he caused damage. To himself. It’s… dangerous. He could have died.”

Septima Vektor shrugged coolly. “Teach him better. At this very moment, he is in your hand, your responsibility. You can change his fate to the better.” Her eyes studied her guest with the same constant vigilance she applied to every complicated situation. “He is a work of art.”

This startled Madam Pomphrey. “You know him?”

“My arithmancy class. He excels, he understands. He never shows and assumes I don’t see him. An attitude he seems familiar with.”

The nurse frowned. As usually, Septima Vektor had summed up an awful situation in cool analysis. She wouldn’t do something obvious of course, but knowing, she agreed with Poppy Pomphrey helped with the decision, she noticed, she had made, before she even stepped through the door. The boy had enough problems without Albus Dumbledore accusing him of going dark.

\----

“How do you feel?” Tristan sat by his bed and held his hand gently.

Regulus grinned, just a little lopsided. “In all honesty? Awful.” He knew he didn’t need to sugarcoat things with his companion. They both valued clear words above white lies. “Could have been worse though. Sirius already been here?”

Tristan shook his head. “Not yet. I guess, Madam Pomphrey won’t let him in until the morning.”

Regulus sighed. “Amen to that… He is great, but I don’t think, I could handle him, right now.” He sank back into the pillows, breathing deep, but something seemed odd, until he eventually realized, something was wrong. “Then… why are you here?” He looked at Tristan more thoroughly, taking in the presence of pajamas, a second prepared bed behind him… Anger started to bubble in his stomach, very, very slowly. He decided for ice cold in favor of heated, asking: “What did he do to you?!”

Tristan smiled apologetically. “Nothing.” Not a lie. Because he wouldn’t. “I kind of… did it myself. You were… I thought, you were dying. Madam Pomphrey says, I exhausted my core. I will be back on track soon enough.”

Regulus couldn’t help but check himself. “You did that?”

Tristan nodded, a carefully hopeful smile on his face. “Not all, obviously, not even most.”

That made Regulus smile too. The little rascal was always good for a surprise, but never took credit. He wouldn’t make him, though. Tristan didn’t like too much attention. Instead he reached out, running his fingertips over the younger boy’s cheek. “Thank you.” For some incomprehensible reason he needed to suppress the urge to lean closer and kiss the very same place. Or say something unforgivable.

\----

The teachers kept the culprit isolated, and it was probably for the best, for Sirius would have hexed him into next year. At least.

Instead, he paced the corridor in front of the infirmary despite the futile attempts of Remus and James to cool him down. Peter had wisely assumed, it was not the best time to be around and was gone to get them something to eat, while they were waiting, because neither of had gone for breakfast, when the news of the attack on Regulus had reached them.

“For the twentieth time, Sirius, sit down” James eventually demanded. “If he wasn’t alright, they would have told you.”

Sirius glared back at him. “It happened yesterday, and they kept it under the blanket until now… doesn’t sound alright to me.” He still sat down when he felt Remus hands on his shoulders, squeezing, carefully not to show too much affection. He looked up, and met Remus’ smile, just for him. “We are here for you. And for your brother.”

Very slowly, Sirius relaxed into the touch, of Remus thumbs, stroking along his shoulder blades, whispering an abashed “thank you.” It was a good think, that just then, Peter returned with some closed dishes on a tray, distracting James and giving them a precious private moment, where Remus could… well not exactly kiss him, but at least purse his lips just a little.

It lessened Sirius tension further and made him not spring into action immediately, when the door of the infirmary opened, and Madam Pomphrey waved them in. There was no point in startling the nurse with Sirius moments of Black madness.

Instead, he rose slowly, Remus hand still on his shoulder and nodded quickly back to him, before falling into a seemingly relaxed stride, that stayed the same from the start to the end, right beside Regulus’ bed. He took a moment to check on his younger brother, sitting down on the readily supplied chair.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Regulus, already awake and looking just a little to pale, grinned, feigning astonishment. “Sarcasm from your mouth? Sirius, have you been taking lessons?”

Sirius punched him, admittedly very lightly, and jumped right into the topic: “Tell me about it. What happened?” His eyes bore into his brother’s, until he got distracted. There was a second bed, Tristan sleeping in it. “And why is he here? I was only told, you were attacked…”

Regulus pulled at his sleeve, urging him closer, before starting in a very low voice. “Let him sleep. He is exhausted.”

Sirius watched furrowed his brow, watching his friends shuffling in and sitting down on the other seats provided, before returning his gaze to Regulus. “It’s eight in the morning…”

Regulus sighed and nodded. “I had a row with some older boy, because of… a girl, is my best guess. I was attacked. He tried to safe me; he sat with me all night. End of story.”

A growing shine of tenderness appeared on Sirius face, and he couldn’t even say, which of the younger boys deserved more if it: his brother, trying to be brave, or the really small boy, trying his best to keep him alive. He coughed slightly. “A little more than a row, I’d say. He tried to kill you.” For Sirius, it was an exceptionally matter-of-factly statement. He knew, without Remus’ soothing presence and the need to keep it quiet, he would be shouting, threatening bloody murder. Maybe he was growing to be an adult, after all, despite everyone doubting it. He continued, a bit shaken: “I should do him the same favor.” Just to make sure, he didn’t fall completely out of character.

Regulus gave him a side glance. “He is dealt with. I do not doubt he will regret it for all his life.” Sirius knew, his brother shared a certain lack of respect for “their elders”, especially if it meant, their teachers, but he was probably right. After such an incident, they had little choice than to apply grave measures.

“You could still be dead” he objected softly, the concern clearly showing in his face despite the lack of obvious gestures of affection.

Regulus exhaled, gifting him with a cheeky smile. “Well, I am not.”

But Sirius wasn’t fooled. He knew his brother well enough to see, he was still shaken. “I guess, the little guy _is_ a pure-blood then” he joked, to take some tension off. “Pays his debts unfailingly.”

To that, Regulus frowned, until Sirius explained the details of what happened over the Christmas holidays. Then, he sat up, watching the small sleeping figure with even more concern. Cursing under his breath, he decided, he couldn’t do it on his own anymore. Not with so much at stake. “Sirius, you need to do something for me.” His older brother was not exactly an expert in research, but maybe a new perspective would help figuring out, how to help his little protégé defend himself.

“We are on it” Sirius promised, before giving him a goodbye hug and a wink. The other Marauders only nodded, but assured him, they would come back after classes to keep both him and Tristan company. The little Malfoy wouldn’t have any other visitors after all.

\----

It worried Regulus, how unsteady Tristan seemed, despite not being injured at all. He had paled the moment he sat up in bed and could barely get dressed without his breathing speeding up. Hell, _he_ had been on the brink of death, according to Madam Pomphrey’s grave admonitions, and needed to be careful, yet felt no immediate limitations. Something was amiss, and Regulus hated being left in the dark.

Yet, he had no time to care for it. His day was filled with the usual duties, classes, homework, starting to revise lessons in preparation for the OWLs, all of it, still a bit tired from the healing process. Only late, lying down and facing Tristan, who always already slept, these days, he remembered. He couldn’t do more than the bare minimum for his companion, and he hadn’t even figured out, what to do about the summer. Sure, there were months left, before that really mattered, but it were months filled with recovery, increasing amounts of work, a third revenge plan, finding out about Tristan’s problem, and so on. It was a very long list. And as of yet, it didn’t even include, what could go wrong. Something _always_ went wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you like my Septima Vektor and my Black brother's interaction. If so, let me know, if not, tell me, what feels wrong for you.


	12. A death and a funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case of death in the family pulls the Blacks closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came easily, like it was meant to be. I hope, it shows in the flow.

“What does dingy little creature on Master Regulus’ bed, say.” The house elf eyed Tristan suspiciously and Tristan was both thankful, he was still fully dressed and reading for his homework and unlucky, because the younger Black had just left the room to go to the loo. He had never realized house elves could be so scary; the ones at home were scared little things, never even lifting their eyes from the ground, very much like Tristan, in a way. On the other hand: this was a _Black_ house elf. Of course, it was just as fierce as the brothers tended to be.

“Regulus will be back in a moment.” Tristan assured, hoping, it was the right thing to say.

It wasn’t. “Dingy little creature dare not use Master’s name. Kreacher will teach it manners, oh, he will!” With that, the house elf moved forward, wrapping its spindly fingers around Tristan’s forearm with bruising force and pulled.

Oh sweet Morgaine, even house elves saw Tristan fit to push him around. Instinctively he bared his teeth and hissed: “Get your fingers of me, you little brute!”

The house elf grinned evilly, and answered: “Will teach you manners, little filth, oh yes!” pulling some more, ready to disapparate and dump Tristan Merlin knew where.

“Kreacher, behave!” a voice came from the door, and Tristan visibly sagged, when he noticed, it was Regulus. Under his stern gaze, the house elf slowly opened his hand and released Tristan, before stepping back. “And don’t you dare, ever touch him again, is that understood?” Tristan knew the effect of this specific tone all too well. It demanded, no, expected, instant obedience, as if nothing else was even thinkable. Sometimes he wished, he possessed something like that as well, but since it would never happen, he decided, for now it was enough to see it used on his behalf.

He gave the house elf a sweetly false smile and moved away from him, before his eyes jumped over to Regulus, who, despite the respect demanding posture, looked worried. He wanted to be by his side, wanted to help, whatever that involved, though he wasn’t even sure how. But the house elf blocked the way effectively and Regulus didn’t appreciate open signs of affection anyways.

“Kreacher, why are you here?” Regulus folded his arms and looked down at the fittingly named thing.

The house elf behaved very subservient now, even to a disturbing amount. “Master Regulus, Sir, Madam Walburga sent Kreacher. Tell you, come home, for funeral.”

“Who died?” The house elf wouldn’t see it, but Tristan easily recognized concern behind the masterly mask of his protector.

“Master Alphard…” the house elf announced with a servile bow. “was found dead yesterday. Master Regulus come to funeral? Master Orion bid Kreacher to stay for answer.”

Regulus waved him off. “No, just… no, you won’t. I need to obtain permission, and you crawling around here just won’t do. Let my father now, I am interested to attend and will come, given the possibility.” He didn’t seem overly fond of the house elf, for no amount of disappointment eroded his determination or made him at least offer some comfort. Instead, he firmly exclaimed: “Now go!”

With a plop Kreacher disappeared, a relief to both Tristan and obviously Regulus. Exhaling forcedly he let himself sink onto the bed by his younger companion’s side and swore, using some select words, Tristan would need to find in the dictionary, given, such explanatory volume of blasphemous words existed.

Tristan sneaked his hand in his protector’s and squeezed. “You were close?”

“Not really” Regulus admitted. “Sirius will be devastated though. Alphard gave him the money to escape…” Neither needed to specify from what.

“They won’t invite him, though, will they?” Tristan asked, studying Regulus tensed jaws, wishing, he could caress the frown away.

The older boy shook his head. “We need to tell him. And… when I go, can you… watch out for him?” His face was far from the composure he would have liked to show, but he knew, he could trust Tristan by now, or so the younger Malfoy hoped.

“Will do. Promise. Want to go now?” he suggested in a very gentle tone. On Regulus nod, they were on their way, Tristan by now so sure, he ignored Lucius’ glare, when they crossed the common room. There were more important things in the world than his brother’s grudge. For a moment, he pondered if there would be someone, whose death (and the inability to attend the funeral) would devastate him. Wasn’t he lucky, grandma Aristina was already dead? Sarcasm was the last resort of the truly hopeless.

\----

Remus had never seen the brothers Black hug before. In public – and on this account even the Marauders counted as public – they never left their chosen roles. Sirius, the reckless, intrepid adventurer, bare of any softer emotions, Regulus, the sophisticated, well-educated scholar. Neither able to express any emotion beyond vague fondness, neither having any weakness.

Remus, knowing Sirius well, knew, he still held back, the news cut even deeper than that. He wouldn’t sleep alone tonight, he decided instantly. Sirius wouldn’t ask, but would need him anyways. For now, Sirius safely in his brother’s care, he watched Tristan instead.

The boy looked seriously displaced in the Gryffindor dorm, unwilling or even unable to relax. Not leaning on anything, not even moving, yet refusing to retreat. Slowly, Remus strode over and took his hand, guiding him to sit down on a chair beside his desk, placing himself opposite on his bed.

“You look pale.” The boy shrugged, but didn’t comment, so Remus went on: “You are hiding.” Distrustful eyes met his. “Takes one to know one.” Tristan grew even more distant, but Remus only smiled. “Care for a little walk? Leaving them to their… family business?”

He watched Tristan get up again and joined him. James and Peter got the hint and disappeared as well, while he guided the small Ravenclaw through the Gryffindor common room and out into the emptying corridors. “Your secrets are safe with me. If you want to talk.”

Tristan sighed. “I don’t.”

“It helps.” Remus trod carefully. He knew the boy to be trustworthy, but he also knew, too much pressure would get him nowhere. “You show me yours, I show you mine. Think about it.” They left it at that for the moment, striding silently alongside each other. It was a pleasant silence.

When he guided him back to the dorm, giving him a last encouraging pat, he whispered: “Next time, maybe.” Tristan’s nod was more, than he had expected.

\----

The day was everything, spring should not be. It’s grey and gloomy light would have fitted into November perfectly. It wasn’t even raining properly; just some thin mist with a downward tendency permeated the air, leaving everything damp and unpleasant. Yet, the day was still no match for his mother’s face.

Regulus, quite versed in the art of reading it, saw all the little contradicting expressions, coming and fading in a constant, barely visible stream. Walburga had never been the most loving or caring person. She was petty, easily angered, firm in her even from Regulus’ perspective bigot beliefs. It didn’t mean, she was without love.

Some had whispered, Alphard had died from her hand, though none accused her openly. But one look in her face said it all. In this very case, she was innocent. She could barely contain her tears, when her younger brother’s coffin sank into the earth smoothly lowered by magic. For once, she keenly welcomed the supporting hands of both her husband and her younger son.

It couldn’t last though. As soon as they left the family crypt of House Black and apparated back to the manor, her mourning transformed to pure, uncontained rage. She screamed at Orion for standing in her path, Regulus for being too slow, when he assisted her taking of her coat, the house elves for their mere existence. Soon she ranted about the past, about the son, who didn’t care for her, the son, who had left her, the son, who should have been here, no matter, she firmly refused to invite him to the funeral. About half an hour a bucket of poison was poured over Sirius name.

Regulus felt bad for him, but didn’t have the heart to stop her. He knew, just now, it wasn’t about his brother. Not really. It was about hers. About the pain, she felt, the disappointment. It was about herself, and her inability to be the sister she was supposed to be.

Suddenly, the screaming changed. Tears in her eyes, she ran for the tapestry depicting the black family tree, searching for the burned space that symbolized the cut tie with her older son. She placed her hand on it, almost reverently, just for a second. Regulus watched her, scared for her safety. And sanity. She looked back, her face hardening again, then suddenly reached for her wand and in a rush of fear and anger and helplessness pointed blindly, erasing Alphard’s picture as she had Sirius’. She left afterwards, ignoring her son, lest, she might do something unforgivable and lose him too.

\----

Whatever help Tristan could offer Sirius, the Marauders did it better. Of course. They had been friends for ages. Remus especially was always close, not quite touching, but giving comfort nonetheless. Peter made jokes and told stories, so everyone was thinking about anything but the elephant in the room, and James nicked them some treats of the kitchens.

Tristan felt quite superfluous. He knew, he was only here, so Regulus didn’t need to worry about him, too. That didn’t make him any more comfortable right now. He was a disturbance and he didn’t want to be. If he had been able to melt into the floor, he would. But then again, he couldn’t leave either. If he disappeared, they would try to search for him, adding to the general suckiness of the situation.

So he stayed, seated on the very edge of the seat, they offered him and tried to melt into the background. It didn't quite work, when Sirius suddenly decided, to get close, measuring him, head to toe.

“You know, we are related, like… second cousins or something?”

Tristan nodded, all pure-bloods were, more or less.

“Let’s make a pact, us discarded black sheep.” Sirius voice was hoarse and sad. “We stick together, no matter what.” For some unexplainable reason, when he said it, his eyes also wandered to Remus, while Peter and James just… stood by.

\---

A 2nd year Gryffindor, nameless yet for not making any impression, brought Regulus to his brother’s dorm, when he was back. Weary eyes followed him into the room, some lonesome, some sad, some distrustful. Slowly he crossed the room, sitting by his brother’s side, and placed an envelope in his lap. “Mother wouldn’t want you to know. But…”He aborted the sentence in silence.

Unsaid words hung in the room between them, unused gestures, unmade contact. The tranquility overwhelming. Slowly, Sirius turned, watching the thick, very officially looking piece of paper. He took it hesitantly and opened it with a quiet charm.

The stillness was so perfect Regulus could hear his every breath. He did nothing to urge him on, let his brother take his time, whatever little comfort he could take from that.

Sirius unfolded the documents and studied them, the Marauders around them untypically calm, until Sirius was finished. With a barely audible huff he closed them again, turned to his brother and smiled. “Thank you.”

Regulus shrugged. He knew, Alphard had left a quite decent amount for Sirius. He knew, his brother could and would use it just right. And he wouldn’t go places just to do mother’s bidding, when she wouldn’t even know. In the end, Sirius had always been closer to his heart, no matter on how many things they disagreed. He leaned in, until it took just a whisper to be understood. “I love you.” Then, he stood up, waving for Tristan to follow and left.

It was hard. But stretching out between them was a whole tapestry of booby traps and pitfalls. No one was allowed to know, how close they were; how much they meant to each other. Sirius would have the Marauders to comfort him. And he… had Tristan. Surprisingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I did it: I think, I made Walburga Black relatable. I feel kind of good about that, for I firmly believe, even the worst specimen of human beings have something good in them. ;)


	13. The wickedness of good planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets his third revenge. It comes at a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, another chapter. Yesterday was a slow day though, I am not ahead anymore...

Weeks and weeks, without much of a progress made Regulus dissatisfied. His grades and exam preparations aside, nothing seemed to progress at all. He had still no leverage on his final culprit Quirin Travers, nor a name for the destroyer of Tristan’s innocence.

Neither had he been able to figure out, what held his companion back or found an arrangement for the summer. If not for the small comforts of Tristan’s continued presence or the secret meetings with the Marauders from time to time, he would have been up the walls already. Just now, he found himself absent-mindedly playing with the boy’s locks, as the small Malfoy leaned against his knee, while reading some book on healing magic. It was much too comforting for his peace of mind.

He rose curtly and snapped: “You should rather read something on your end of term exams.”

Tristan seemed unfazed, something that happened only lately, bearing witness to the fact, how close they already were. “Won’t help. I get perfect grades in theory and mess it up in the practical. As usually.” He then turned to study Regulus’ face. “What’s up, though? You are unhappy. How can I help?”

Was he really so easy to read? Or was Tristan just… The latter definitely, he decided. No one outside the family knew him so intimately, which was scary and soothing at the same time. Unfortunately the thought opened another bottomless pit of unmet necessities. He needed to define this relationship. He needed to find a place, a name, anything, to make it palpable, understandable, less elusive. It just wouldn’t work, when he felt himself drawn closer and closer by day.

Tristan touched his arm softly, disrupting his thoughts. “What can I do?”

“I…” A plan formed in his mind. A terrible, cruel, unkind plan. No… But… “I need to ask something of you. I want you to know, it is not an order. If you decline, I will understand it. More so, I will support it. But if you find it in you… We will be able to put something to rest. And to prevent those, who hurt you, to hurt someone again.”

Tristan watched him, very attentively. “Tell me.”

\-----

For days Regulus was torn between reassuring Tristan everything would work out just right, and dissuading him. It was obvious, he wasn’t all that sure himself he could put his companion through this, no matter how much easier it would make everything.

It got so bad Tristan had nightmares, worse than the ones at the start of their relationship. But when he woke up, looking at Regulus with his impossibly grey eyes, when the guilt in Regulus’ guts churned and made him want to vomit, made him want to call it off, Tristan shook his head. “I will never be free of it, if I don’t end this. And I don’t want to live in fear. I don’t want to feel guilty when I find out he did it again, to someone else.”

Of course, the smaller boy also had his moments of doubt. When he shivered in fear, caught in the memories, unable to even move. He would say: “I am being selfish” and apologize, not really asking for forgiveness, just for understanding.

It made Regulus feel even worse. “You aren’t selfish” he whispered, clutching Tristan’s hands. “It’s too much, what I ask of you.” And then Tristan would shake his head and say: “At least I know I can cope. I have done it before. How can I expect someone else to do it?” And Regulus hated himself a little more.

\----

It felt strange, walking on his own again. No more subtle presence of his protector, no shadow, just outside of the corner of his eye. It was enough to break him, or would have been, if it wasn’t for Regulus’ constant reassurance in the evening, when they were safely in the Slytherin dorm.

The mere thought, they would need to end that too… Well, it was safe to say, he desperately hoped, it wouldn’t come to that. In the meantime he tried to look just right… not too meek, so his falling of graces with Regulus was believable, not too confident, so he still seemed a good victim. Only, with each class he grew more anxious, until in the evening, he was almost ready to beg Regulus for another solution. He would, right after dinner…

Regulus wasn’t there. But Travers was and flashed him a smile. It seemed nice enough, this smile, if you didn’t look too closely. Innocent, harmless. Tristan knew better. Suddenly, he had no appetite left. For a second, he looked over to the Gryffindor table, but the Marauders were preoccupied. James whispered something with Lily and Sirius told a story that captivated both Remus and Peter.

Shocked he checked for Travers again, who now came closer, sitting down right next to him. “You’re finished. We need to talk.”

\----

Regulus stepped into the classroom as if he owned it. He didn’t even actively study the room. The details, all by themselves, presented their own story. Tristan’s swollen lips, the forming bruise on his cheekbone, the torn robes, the angry red fingerprints on his wrists.

No matter, how much Travers tried to look innocent, to keep the distance between him and the obviously disheveled boy. “It’s not, what it looks like” he quickly assured, his voice hoarse and toneless, the breath treacherously shallow.

Regulus smiled amusedly, as Tristan’s complete demeanor changed from scared and weak to confident and secure. “Of course it is not. How could it ever. But…” Tristan joined his side, brushing by his elbow, not quite touching. “What would your parents see? The teachers? Your peers?”

Closing the distance to Travers, and accidently placing himself between him and Tristan, his voice dropped a few notes and a lot of volume, until just a whisper remained, so softly that Travers leaned in, despite his reluctance to do so. “We want to keep this between us, don’t we? As noblemen.”

Travers was a stupid one, with more studious intelligence than self-preservation. “You have no proof.” His eyes jumped from Regulus to Tristan and back to Regulus.

The boy didn’t show any weakness, watching dispassionate as if he had no part in this. Definitely not intimidated. It played right into Regulus’ hands. “Do I need that? My word as a Black against yours. My memories, and his…”

Regulus eyes carefully measured his opponent in mild amusement. Made him aware of the small beads of sweat forming on his brow by leaving his gaze to linger.

Quirin Travers knew he was beaten; everything else was just struggling to keep his face. But Regulus wouldn’t grant him even that. When he opened his mouth for an answer, Regulus moved his head in a soft disapproval.

“Ah, ah. We don’t want to be recalcitrant, do we?” Turning away, not even granting Travers a final look, he added: “You will behave like the perfect gentleman your family expects you to be. And I will let you know, when you are of use.”

\----

They went directly to the dorm, where Regulus wasted no time to pull Tristan into a firm embrace. “I am so proud of you.” Tristan nodded softly, for a moment still the stiff, distant persona, he had donned for shelter.

Letting go of it, he flopped onto the bed and exhaled with great relief. “I didn’t think, I could do it. In the end.”

Regulus grinned contently. “You are a pure-blood. You learned composure. There was no doubt.” The voice getting just a little darker, the eyes twinkling mischievously, he added. “I will even forget, you didn’t ask, before you sat down.”

He regretted it, when Tristan jumped back up, all stiff again. “No. Don’t. No use in getting soft.” With a sigh, he stepped closer, running his hand along Tristan’s side. The boy was right. Their relationship was in a complicated balance. How could it be, he understood better, what it meant to be head of a house than Regulus did?

“Fine. Kneel.” Tristan obeyed without hesitation and watched silently, as Regulus fetched Anti-Bruising salve from his trunk. “No sound, from you, understood?” On Tristan’s nod he slowly, carefully applied the salve to the face and then to the wrists, while the small Malfoy remained motionless. Then, he pulled him up again and forced him to meet his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me. We cannot allow ourselves to slip.”

Tristan nodded and answered: “Our reputation needs to be flawless.” It sounded like a mantra.

\----

“I want to, Remus. And I can’t see what else Regulus can whip up.” Sirius knew, he looked a little stubborn, even childish, but in this, he really wasn’t. He had seen the unique way, his brother interacted with the small Malfoy boy and he had also seen, how the little one acted without it, though he had no idea, why the two boys had tried that.

But he also knew, what returning to House Malfoy or, for the better or worse, House Black would do to it. After watching the death glares, Lucius Malfoy gave his brother, whenever he was reminded of his existence, House Malfoy was a death sentence. And House Black… no one in his sane mind would want to go there.

“I know, I will have little time, when I start my training as with the Order. But the boy is self-reliant, careful. He has grown a lot in this last half a year. It’s better than any alternative.”

He could see Remus thinking, his thumb drawing soft circles on the back of Sirius hand. “How do you imagine this to work? You won’t be present, most of the time. If someone finds out, he is toast.” One could see, Remus had his own thoughts on this and really tried to be helpful instead of just dismissing Sirius’ ideas.

Sirius shrugged. “I know, either of us could get killed. Me, James, Peter, you. But we stick together. And you of all people should understand, why I want to help him.”

Remus chuckled. “Now you have a thing for runts?” His brow bumped softly into the side of Sirius head and his lips lingered, just for a second, knowing, that Peter could be back any second. James probably not, he was with Lily. He abandoned the thought to state: “There is a war going on. It’s not obvious yet, but people start dying. You can’t drag the boy into this.”

Sirius watched his hands thoughtfully. “I think, he’s already there.”

\----

Exams, exams and, not to forget, more exams. Regulus had no idea, how the 7th years managed, maybe his brother and James just didn’t care, while Remus was always prepared and Peter... safe to say, little was expected from Peter. Regulus on the other hand could perform nothing short of perfect.

Even the slightest dip in his scores would be noted and accordingly disciplined. He shared this with Tristan. Of course, this time no one would punish the younger Malfoy, as it had, undoubtedly, had happened, ever since his shortcomings became visible. But that didn’t stop the boy from working as if his life depended on it.

His grades would remain mediocre, but his effort was as implacable as Regulus’ own. It impressed Regulus and he decided he would at least put the holiday break to good use to finally, finally figure something out, for at the given moment, only Madam Pomphrey’s constant praise stood between Tristan and an early end of his education.

That, though, was peculiar. Working half the term on all kinds of healing magic, he had never failed even a single spell. Not simple locks cast to secure broken bones, not complicated analysis spells. Not even the restoration spells, used on Regulus’ own body. Not a single spell, after a record of failures.

Regulus felt, he had forgotten about something important. And then, it came back to him. Not a dark lord, no, but maybe something else, so rare, no one was looking for it? He would need to take a second look on the book, he decided.

\----

Tristan was at the train platform with Regulus, discussing the results of their exams, as Sirius noticed, how Lucius Malfoy strode towards them with almost regal grandeur.

Instinctively Sirius got closer himself, although they were supposed to meet later, at the train, safely secluded from prying eyes.

The elder Malfoy was much faster though, grabbing his younger brother by the collar and spitting unpleasantries towards Regulus.

Sirius decided to wait and not yet blow his cover. Usually Regulus handled things just as well himself. As he did today. Coolly he informed his opponent he had no intent to continue this conversation and asked him to please step back, never leaving the area of clean-cut politeness. It wasn’t, what Sirius would have done, but it fitted his brother like a perfectly tailored suit. Furthermore it irritated the hell out of Malfoy, though he didn’t let go, yet. “I will gladly give you your peace, once I have retrieved this wayward member of my house” he hissed.

Regulus stepped forward, patting down on Tristan’s front, as if to rearrange his robes. “ _Is_ he wayward though? Last I heard forming and maintaining good relations between honored pure-blood houses was the sensible thing to do.” He flashed a mockingly friendly smile just for good measure.

It didn’t suffice to make Lucius Malfoy lose his composure. It _did_ suffice to leave him seething. Deceivingly soft he threatened: “You might feel like winning now, but there are greater forces at work. Once they rise to their power, the weaknesses of wizardkind will be purged.” With that, a surge of something truly dark emerged for just a second, leaving both Regulus and Sirius alarmed. It was Tristan’s reaction, though, that came as a surprise. Schreaming almost like pain, he turned in Lucius grip. “What have you done, Lucius? What the hell have you done?” It didn’t sound like fear, more like concern, real, actual worry. Lucius was so astonished, all of a sudden he let go of his collar and stepped back.

But Tristan followed, grabbing the front of his robe now. “You need to get out, Lucius. Please.”

Jerkily the older Malfoy jumped back and turned away, walking to safe distance and flattening his clothing in awkward little movements. Everyone stared at Tristan. Then, everyone looked away. From one second to the next, he was practically invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... War starts seeping in, now... It will get more soon.


	14. A summer of peace and madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan goes to Sirius over the summer. Unfortunately Sirius is somewhat involved in a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than usual (because the next will be a little on the short side ;) )  
> And war is finally playing some role. Yay.  
> Enjoy and let me know, what you think.

The first weeks of summer holidays were just as Tristan had expected: quiet, repetitive, a little more lonesome than he would have liked. The now adults (hah!) had things to do.

It wasn’t Sirius’ fault. He was doing a lot of stuff, Tristan only half understood. If he was there at all. And in addition he looked so tired all the time that Tristan had no heart to disturb him any more than necessary.

It wasn’t Remus’ fault either. He visited often and tried his best to keep the younger Malfoy’s company. Even James and Peter, still not exactly Tristan’s friends, made an effort, if they could. But somehow all the Marauders were preoccupied. Hell, even Lily was into whatever was going on.

It would have been alright though, if they would have just told him. Instead, they tried everything to appear normal, to pretend nothing was going on at all. As if Tristan was oblivious enough to believe that. Fine. It may have worked on someone else. But despite being sorted into Ravenclaw on his own wish, he had lived most of his last year in Slytherin. And he had thrieved. Only Gryffindors could forget about something like that.

But what did it change anyways? They did their best, they kept him out of trouble; what else could he wish for? He certainly wasn’t going to call them out on this. He just kept being prepared for… something.

\----

“Shit. Tris, wake up.” Sirius voice, whispering, full of apprehension. Tristan rose instantly, but before he could open his mouth and ask something, Sirius brought his hand up to cover it. “Keep it quiet and dress; we have to go.” He glanced around, anxiously scanning the windows, and added: “They are coming.”

Tristan had no idea, who “they” were, but caught up on Sirius’ state of mind well enough. Hurriedly he slipped out of bed and into his clothes. He then tugged Sirius’ sleeve and whispered: “I’m ready.”

This very moment, a cloaked and masked figure plopped into existence on the front porch, next to the front door.

Sirius swore inaudibly and growled then: “There goes the chance to walk out of this.” With a harsh jerk he gripped Tristan’s arm and dragged him closer, turning the world upside down.

It reappeared in form of a street close to Sirius cottage, but safely out of sight, and it didn’t appear pleasant. Tristan heaved; Sirius apologized. “Sorry. I’m not used to passengers.”

Then, they ran, putting distance between them and the house, until the morning light colored the world around them. Assuming, they got away, they found themselves a small Muggle bakery for breakfast and sat down. In this moment Tristan decided, he was done fumbling around in the dark. “Will you please tell me, what all this was about?”

The older Black sighed, but didn’t try to doge anymore. Instead he talked. About the dark wizard, who rallied his forces to kill Muggles and Muggleborn. And of course everyone else who decided to resist. About how the Marauders had been dragged into this war, and how they decided to do the right thing. And how, unfortunately, someone had obviously found out about Sirius’ cottage. “I hoped I could keep you out of it” he admitted and shrugged.

Tristan snorted and shook his head sadly. “A little late for that, I guess. There is a decent chance they weren’t even there for you. But for me.”

Sirius wouldn’t believe it, or rather, didn’t want to believe it, until Tristan dryly informed him about the reasons for his burst at the train platform. “I think, Lucius took the Dark Mark.” After that, there wasn’t any way to pretend anymore that Tristan didn’t know. Sirius didn’t look happy about it.

\----

Sirius moved them around. He hated that Tris had gotten involved in this. The others had signed up for it. James, Lily, Remus, even Peter. But Tris… had stumbled right into it, without even being asked first. But there was little possibility to change that for now. He needed to hang on until they could put him back on the train and get him carried to the relative safety of Hogwarts. The least, they could do though, was to keep him out of danger’s path. So he was sent to whomever was the least likely to encounter enemy forces at any given time. Mostly, this was Lily. She was less reckless and less suspicious than the boys. Sometimes it was Peter. They didn’t try it often anyways; Tris and Peter didn’t get along.

And still, it wasn’t enough. Despite the obvious attempt to respect their boundaries, not to eavesdrop, to stay away, when they spoke privately, it was clearly visible he picked things up. You could see it in the anxious looks he sent their way, when they left. In the relief, once they reappeared.

He didn’t fuzz, he didn’t become clingy. He worried in silence. It was heartbreaking.

One day, it was worse. They had barely gotten away. Remus bled, James could barely walk, a bunch of hexes and curses all but stunning him. And of course, it wasn’t Lily, who saw them first. It was Tristan, with his perfect sense for the wrong timing.

\----

Tristan wasted no time. Within seconds he was outside, taking over to support Remus, so Peter and Sirius could carry James inside. He knew better than to ask questions, he knew better than to even look to closely. He kept his head down and endured, waiting, until they were safely settled within James’ house, the wards flashing into action.

But this time, he decided, not just to disappear again, to fade into non-existence, so they wouldn’t have to worry about him on top of everything else. He pulled Sirius into a corner, making contact on his own for the very first time, whispering fiercely: “I have been trained as a healer. _Let me help_!” Even he didn’t know he had it in him, before he spoke the words with such determination.

Yet, Sirius shook his head. “You are a child. You have no claim in this war. You could get hurt. If you help us, sooner or later, they will know.”

Before he could step away, Tristan clawed his forearms to keep him in place. “So are you. You are what? Three years older than me? What does that change? And I didn’t work all year, just to watch my friends ache and suffer and die.” When Sirius still lingered doubtfully, he added: “Beside: if they get me, I am dead anyways, don’t you know?”

Again, Sirius turned away. “I’ll set the wards.”

“Wards won’t help them!” Tristan exclaimed in desperation, which made Sirius chuckle, just a little.

“The wards, so the ministry won’t track you. You are not supposed to use magic outside of school. Remember?”

With that, it was decided. He got to heal Remus’ injury; he got to dispel the curses on James. He didn’t step back from that again. When they got hurt, he was there. It felt good. He felt needed. He wasn’t a liability anymore. He was an asset.

\----

Lily closed her eyes, worried. “You shouldn’t have taken him in.” They all knew that once the boy was there, it was only a question of time, until he got to see things, until he got hurt, until…

Sirius shrugged. “He had nowhere else to go.”

She didn’t comment, just studied the inside of her eyelids, leaning back against the safety of James’ embrace. She heard his now more somber voice from deep within. “It will get worse. Muggles get hurt. We can’t get hold of Aleana Abbott. Dorian Travers pretends not to know us anymore, trembling in fear.”

Sirius shrugged again. “I guess we are losing. But the fight isn’t over before the last curse.”

Silence spread. They were all afraid. Pain, suffering, torture, disappearances. And the war had barely started for them. They were learning just now, what it meant. And if they still felt young, what about their younger brothers, friends, the remaining students of Hogwarts?

Their parents, older brothers and sisters, cousins, friends. It was an uneasy thought to imagine them. Fighting, hurting, and dying. The ones with the Dark Mark and the ones without.

Remus ended the suffocating pause with a harrumphing noise. “At least, he isn’t with them.” The silent fear, creeping up on them, drowned his splinter of hope, easily.

Just then, the fire sprang into action. “Moody here. Can I come through?” It was a welcome distraction. More welcome even was the reason, he came. He had been relieved of duty for a few weeks, due to an injury, and decided to use the time to train other members of the Order. Auror-internal wards, spells, hexes… That was a thing to give hope. Only… Moody didn’t know about Tristan yet.

\----

“Are you fucking serious?” If Alastor Moody had only two talents, one of them would have been to completely ignore politeness in favor of clarity. “You are barely grown-up. He is…”

But Tristan was done letting people speak about him, instead of to him. Sirius was impressed, when he stood up and walked right up to the older and by all accounts scary Auror, who wore all kinds of signs of past injuries. “I am here, actually. Right here. I am quite capable to make my own decisions, as the head of my family will happily confirm to you.” A more than clear note of anger vibrated through the statement, leaving everyone astonished.

“Dammit” Remus whispered, and Sirius couldn’t help but agree. The boy had really grown up over the past year. He still looked like a scared little lamb, for sure, but, knowing, they would back him up and he didn’t stand alone in the world anymore, had definitely boosted his confidence.

Moody seemed less appreciative. He looked him up and down and scoffed with discontent: “I can hardly see you as a fighter in your own right.” That made everyone grin. Everyone but Tristan.

Gravely he stared back at Moody and all but growled: “A world needs gardeners as much as butchers.” Sirius wasn’t sure, Tristan nodded at Alastor on purpose with the last word, but he held his breath on the reaction. And rightly so. The Auror had a difficult temper. Annoyed he shoved the boy, who had possibly not even half his weight, away and shouted: “In war, gardens get trampled. In war, gardeners get hanged.”

Tristan nodded, sighing. “Then they are better off, being prepared… Besides…” he stepped back, almost as if giving in, if you didn’t see the defiance in his eyes. “You’d still have that leg of yours, if I had been around.”

Roaring, Alastar went after him, almost as red as his hair had once been. But the small Malfoy knew the house by heart and slipped away, easily, giggling with joy of outsmarting a man twice his weight, thrice his age, a dozen times his experience.

Sirius shared shook his head smirking at Remus, who answered in turn. Moody would come around. His anger flared easily and would easily set. His esteem though, wouldn’t, once he realized, how well he had been played.

\-----

Tristan had no idea, how the same man, who had chased after him all around the house, shouting at the top of his lungs, he would spank him cherry red, would have all the patience in the world to explain the most complicated first-aid and healing charms and show them again and again, until Tristan understood how they worked, yet, it was true.

Alastor Moody seemed intimidating and at times just as dark as the men he had fought all his life. But once you got on his good side, you would find out, he was also protective, full of knowledge and able to share it. And while everyone else had always found Tristan somehow lacking, he accepted the young Malfoy’s limitations and worked along them, praised his precision, warned him to be careful, taught him strong protective charms and means to get away from a fight, he could not win, nor even try to perform.

“Distraction is your friend, little pidgeon” he always told him, and beamed proudly, when Tristan mastered yet another little feat, so insignificant for a fighter, yet invaluable for a thief. Or a healer. He also told the others, never to leave him alone in a fight, especially, since he just didn’t get the hang of apparition.

\----

Tristan was out in the garden, relishing the warm afternoon sun, thinking of Regulus and what he meant to him. Once again, he reinforced his decision, never to tell him about it. It would hurt too much and destroy everything.

Lily was inside, preparing some cookies for the evening’s meeting, a meeting, where once again, Tristan was expected to go to bed. He couldn’t decide, if they tried to spare him or if they simply did not trust him. Either way, this hurt too. That seemingly was the thing about relationships: once the gloves were off, once you let them close enough, it hurt, no matter the good intentions.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, when he suddenly became aware of a tension in the wards of the house. Instantly he sat up, grabbing his wand. The wards answered his call without hesitation. Moody had coded him into them like every other resident.

There were four of them. And they were _good_. They did not simply break through the wards, alarming everyone, but carefully dispelling them. If he hadn’t paid attention, he would have missed it.

Tristan’s thoughts raced. Four. And Lily alone in the house. Even if she wasn’t caught by surprise, she stood no change against them. There was only him, standing between her and them. And there was little, he could do, only… distract them. Lead them away from the house. Buy her time, by luring them, then vanish, playing hide and seek until someone came back. It should be any minute now, really…

Soundlessly he slipped out of the garden, but, jumping over the fence, made sure, it vibrated nicely, the thrumming noise slowly travelling along the metal grid. Putting some more distance between him and them, he looked back then, checking, if he had been noticed.

A volley of angry red shot in his general direction, forcing him into a short zigzag pattern to dodge it. He could hear their footsteps, but couldn’t look back again. It would slow him down. He felt some relief, when he reached the first bushes of the forest surrounding the house, though he knew, the shelter was treacherous. He knew his way around the forest, but there were four of them. Sooner or later they would trap him.

The best, he could do was give them a run for their money and make it last as long as possible.

\----

“Ha, look, what I got here!” Rosier’s voice always sounded disturbingly merry, no matter, if he chased after a victim or a pint. Lucius drew nearer slowly, it was prudent, he arrived last, he wouldn’t be caught dead on something as ordinary as running, if not for good reason. It would be better anyways, if Greyback arrived first. He always got them so nicely scared.

He could hear everything anyways, Rosier simply couldn’t drop the volume. “Would you like me to imperius you, or give you a nice crucio, so you tell me, what you know? Or shall I simply kill you?”

A small, but defiant voice answered deadpan: “I’d prefer the latter.” It sounded too familiar to be dismissed as coincidence, so he sped up a little, lest Greyback got his way too soon.

The werewolf already was there, fulfilling his usual function perfectly, leaving the victim writhing away in fear. “Oh… so that gets you going, yes?” Rosier gloated contently. “Wanna talk already?”

Lucius interrupted by grabbing the captive’s hair and pulling his head back, giving him a good view. Instantly his wand flew into his hand. “Looks like your little getaway is over.” With that, he stabbed the tip into the soft flesh under his brother’s jaw. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t bother…” He made sure, the sharp tip left a mark. “But father forbid me to kill you just now.” Tristan’s shrug was counterpointed by a thick swallow, laced with a satisfying amount of fear. He would yet make his little brother to obey him without question. The joy, he would take from that, would be even better than removing him from the family entirely. And this time, father would let him have his way. Couldn’t possibly deny him, if he brought the lost sheep back into the Malfoy stable.

Grinning maliciously, he stupefied Tristan and tied him up, with a weave from his wand. He wouldn’t get away, until they were finished with the house.

\----

The fight was short-lived. As soon as the death-eaters realized, there was considerable resistance, they fled, a few fighters in tow. Remus still counted it as a loss. Another house no longer usable for their purposes, another set of injuries, another pointless encounter, that cost them more than it gave them. And Tristan disappeared. Suddenly he hoped, Moody had placed the tracker on the boy against everyone’s resistance. He didn’t care much about their opinion most of the time and Remus was never sure, if he was wary of the boy or just fond, in his own unique way. Anyways, it would have come handy now.

\----

Tristan’s wake-up had been unpleasant, but happy. What did it matter, he was sore and exhausted, when he was safe? He didn’t tell all of them, what he did. He told it to Remus, because Remus would understand. Remus wouldn’t scold him, tell him, he was too young, wouldn’t doubt his intentions and his abilities.

He didn’t expect, though, to see Remus scared. Maybe relationships hurt everyone, not just him. He still told him everything. The other’s needed to know. When he finished, the ex-Gryffindor watched him sadly. “So, now you know for sure, your brother is with… him?”

Tristan sighed. “It’s no surprise. I have more to lose than just… the time, until I get out of school and can make my own decisions.”

Remus’ hand fell on his knee. “Your life, for example?”

“My father, my brother?” Tristan countered, pressing his lips thin.

“They are on the other side. Beside… I thought, you hated them.” He credited Remus for remaining carefully neutral.

“It’s… complicated. But no, I don’t hate them. I wish, they…” Hi didn’t finish the sentence, abandoning it, before it cut too deep. “The best way to keep them safe is to end this war. To sort it out in peace.”

Compassionately Remus nodded. “You are too kind for your own good.”

“Yeah.” Tristan snorted bitterly. “A nice, meek sheep.” He bared his teeth, looking anything but that.


	15. The sadness of snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan talk about feelings and expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are a bit on the short side today, after yesterday's longer chapter, but honestly, the chapter needed to end right there. There was no way around that.

During the summer, there had been a number of duties set out for Regulus, each meant to prepare him for his role in the future in its own way. He had met all kinds of pure-blood allies, both marked and unmarked at the side of his father and grandfather. He had listened to their lectures about his responsibility. He had learned magic far out of the curriculum of Hogwarts. He had dealt with small infractions from house elves and dependents.

He had hardened his heart, so he could perform perfectly. No suspicion was allowed to fall on his conviction for his family; no one was to doubt his reputation. He knew, his grandfather Arcturus pushed for him to take the place, Sirius had rejected, right by his side, as heir apparent, as orientation and gloried champion for all dark pure-blood families.

Regulus felt honored and pressured at the same time. Willing to accept the task, but unwilling to allow others to dictate its means and measures. Not even Lord Black himself.

Therefore, as at least Arcturus would suspect – and expect – he kept his secrets. The silent pact with Tristan, his research on the topic of his limitations, the blackmail of Quirin Travers, only the tip of the iceberg.

Regulus returned for his 6th year of school more solemn than ever, more determined to make his own path, a careful strategist and silent watcher. A man in a boy’s hide, willing and able to perform acts of magic unbidden by the ministry, if the necessity arose.

He met Tristan at the platform in King’s Cross, sharing nothing more than a nod, strolling seemingly disinterested but by his side, until they found a compartment fitting them. Regulus could see the slight tension in Tristan’s movements, tell-tale signs of the emotional turmoil caused by their reunion, yet did nothing to relief it. He expected his companion to deal with it and Tristan did not disappoint.

Only when they had placed themselves in a train compartment and warded it rigorously, the smaller boy flew into his arms. “I missed you. So badly.”

Regulus smiled, unsure, if he could allow himself to indulge in his own feelings of relief and joy. On the one hand he needed to be even more firm to keep both of them safe. A storm was brewing, and without his protection, it would shatter the smaller boy. On the other hand though, what was it worth, if he couldn’t savor, what was given to him? Take his moments of pleasure and joy, when the possibility arose?

Slowly, more composed, he closed his own arms around the boy and drew him closer, resting one hand on the small of his back, the other on the nape of his neck, caressing the locks that now, after the summer were collected in the tiniest of ponytails, barely tamed as ever. “I missed you too. But we need to be careful. Rumors get you killed in these times.”

Tristan sat back. “It is not rumors that get you killed. It is bearers of the Dark Mark, out on a hunt.” That statement erased all youthful boyishness from his face. Suddenly he looked just as grown-up as Regulus felt.

Regulus closed his eyes in aggrieved contemplation. Something had happened. Tristan had changed over the duration of only two months just as much as he had. It was a good thing, he would be prefect this year. No more room sharing meant more privacy to take care of the necessary problems.

\----

It was hard, not to talk, it was hard to start talking. They barely shared more than a few words over the train ride, sat only silently side by side, hands intertwined. But how could Tristan tell him, what he had seen. What he had survived? How could he add even more concerns onto his shoulders? And how could he do so without talking about everything better left unmentioned?

He just didn’t. Concentrating on the masterly guise of Regulus Black, scion of a Noble dark and ancient house, helped with that. There was little of the person he knew and… loved in that. But then, they couldn’t stay silent forever, could they?

After the train ride, the carriages, the welcome feast, they were finally alone in the new prefect room, the bigger, shared bed. Tristan felt Regulus study him intensely and fidgeted under the stare. “Is something amiss?” he drawled uneasily.

Regulus did neither move nor answer, sending Tristan into a nervous little panic. “You changed. Do you want me to leave?”

Regulus shook his head, raised his hand softly to Tristan’s cheek. “Will you give me the usual start-of-term you-will-regret-me-speech?” There were callouses on his fingers and thumb, softly scratching the skin of Tristan’s face.

“I didn’t intend to...” The younger Malfoy cupped his own hand over Regulus’ staying it in place, basked for a second in the feeling, embracing the burning desire for… _more_. “Yet, it is that, or lying.”

He watched Regulus’ brow furrow in slow motion and smoothed the creases of irritation and possibly anger over with his fingertips.

“I have realized, I added a severe complication to our agreement. One, that makes me believe, there will be no good outcome.”

Regulus demanded him to go on wordlessly, all lordly and secure, and so Tristan threw his determination in the wind. He would tell him. He would end it now, before it hurt too much, before Regulus found himself in the same trap, he had managed to capture himself in. It was the only fair thing to do.

“I think, I fell for someone and I fell hard. And… it can’t end well. May it be that he rejected me, because he doesn’t fancy… my kind. I couldn’t bear his disgust, or worse, his pity. May it be he rejected me, because of me, which would hurt even worse, knowing, I am once more not good enough. May it be he accepted. It would change everything, and, once he understood, who I am, what I am and move forward, leaving me behind, I would be all alone.”

Regulus studied him, fully confused. “You’d still have me…” and then, realizing, what was said, and what wasn’t: “Oh.”

Tristan pulled free from his hands and buried himself in the task of arranging his books and school supplies on their shared desk, until he felt Regulus step behind him. Shivering, he froze, while strong, warm arms wrapped around his body. “Do you love me?”

His head dropped a few inches and a sad smile spread, as he nodded, reluctantly. "I do."

Thankfully Regulus knew better than to answer in turn. He gave Tristan a small embrace, then left him to his task, without so much as another word.

\----

Four words, shattering the carefully constructed illusion of control, he had built for himself over the last year. “Do you love me?” He would have known anyways. Why did he even ask? He hadn’t allowed himself to ever think of Tristan in those terms. He had forced himself to see him as something else. Or rather, he had tried. Little brother. Merlin, had he ever even been able to pretend to believe it?

Had he ever been able to look at the noble features of his face, the long lines of his body without silent longing? He knew what Tristan went through, he knew, no intimate touch would be, could be welcome. He knew, he knew, he knew.

And still, his heart burned up in vain hope, on the wordless answer. He scolded himself; he warned himself of the consequences, but still found he couldn’t bother to care. He wanted _that_. He wanted to find out, what it would feel like, not to brush by, but to bury his face in this unruly, soft hair. How it would burn to kiss these soft, elegantly curved lips. Where the journey would take him, once his fingers were allowed to explore.

There was no way to turn around after this confession. There was no way to turn away from his own feelings, unnamed and as yet unexplored. What he could do, was go slow. Step by step, testing the ice, not to let them both fall into the frozen water. And so he stepped back, allowing himself and the boy to process, what just had happened. He wouldn’t say it himself. He wouldn’t touch, he wouldn’t even move, before he decided, he was ready, before he was sure, he wouldn’t hurt his… love.

And then again: could he act at all within the restrictions of these guidelines? They both knew the expectations of their families. Neither would defy their duty in the end. Once they finished school, they would be all but forced to marry pure-blood wives, produce pure-blood children, behave in pure-blood ways, only ever meeting on chance. It was Regulus’ 6th year, meaning, he had only two years to defer tragedy and a lifetime to regret.

On instinct, he turned Tristan around, forced him to sit, kneeled before him and conquered his hands, telling him thus, apologizing for his moment of weakness, not expecting forgiveness. The smaller boy laughed, tilting his body and head down, until their brows met. “I do not expect to live past that. Granting me those two years is more than I could hope for. More than I deserve.”

Regulus rose, just a little, holding Tristan’s face in place and growled: “Don’t say that. I don’t permit you to die.” The happy twinkling in his counterpart’s eyes made him almost forget, there was no hope between them.

\----

Despite their conversation, despite the facts transpired, despite the saddest of all declarations of love nothing really changed between Regulus and Tristan. If Regulus obviously chose to ignore, what happened, Tristan wouldn’t pressure him. Maybe it was for the best, leaving it alone, contenting himself with the safety of Regulus’ presence, the warmth of his care.

He still felt like crying at times, felt, like the very fabric of his life became brittle like autumn leaves. Bitterness creeped into every waking moment, poisoning even the things he loved most. Only the nights, lying aside Regulus, watching him sleep, the face relaxed, the cold composure gone offered comfort. Tristan let the tears fall onto the pillows, just out of reach, imagining, the impact of each would lull the older boy into deeper sleep, granting him another moment of silent reverence.

He understood. Of course he understood. He had from the start. It was the very reason, he would have never asked, if he had any believe, he could go on denying or at least lying. Regulus wouldn’t, couldn’t act, even if the impulse was there, even if…

In the dark of the night, calloused hands slipped into his hair, pulling him closer, so very carefully, gentle lips brushed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. His lips quivered, when Regulus’ dove in, planting a chaste kiss. His breath halted, when Regulus’ tongue slided over his lower lip. “You are beautiful” the Slytherin murmured, tracing the curves of his face with lips and fingertips. “Yet, you have clearly never been kissed.”

And like that, he felt embraced, his lips covered, touched, kissed, loved into breathless, willing submission. He closed his eyes and drowned in their mixed breath, his hands clinging helplessly to his lover. ‘I love you’ he thought and didn’t say. “Thank you” came out instead, but it was just as well, full of the same trust, the same affection.

The morning came, as cold, as lonesome as ever. When their hands parted below the blankets, the impossibilities of their love slipped back into focus, it seemed imaginary, just a dream. But it was all they could have, and so Tristan made it last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, the saddest declaration of love I have ever written. Or read, at that matter. Let me know, if you liked it.


	16. In weakness lies strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan sees things, he shouldn't. Regulus determination to minimize contact wavers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud, I am still on track. It's fun to watch them unfold, although I feel like I am slowing down.

Hogwarts seemed as far from the war, as it could get. There were children, they needed to be taught, there were teachers, they did their job and there was little else. No questions asked about wearing the Mark, none answered about forbidden knowledge.

There was… peace. The infirmary though, was a whole different story. Madam Pomphrey couldn’t just stand by. In the cellar between her usual rooms, she had created a smaller, clandestine hospital, in which her small supporter proved invaluable. At first, she had only had him help in the infirmary to get her hands free for the secret cases.

But then questions were asked. People expected her to be around. They didn’t expect a boy of fifteen to handle the Infirmary on his own. The irony of it was that instead he handled the poor souls, not supposed to be in her care, and therefore saw a lot more of the nasty stuff she wouldn’t have wanted him to see: Curse marks, open wounds, even the occasional lost cause. And she couldn’t even send him away, for she needed him desperately. There were little, they could do anyways.

\----

There was talk in the school, there always was. Regulus was a good listener and even better confidant. He didn’t talk, he didn’t spread rumor, he was reliable and true to his word. And only to his word.

The insane and the reckless would gather under Lucius banner, eager to join a war, they didn’t even understand, but thought, they could fight and win, because their daddies said so. The careful, the intelligent, the Slytherin stuck to Regulus, who didn’t blindly run into danger, who assessed and evaluated, who schemed and plotted. And they kept him informed, expecting the same courtesy.

What he learned, left him concerned often, speechless sometimes and gagging at worst. It was true, what the Dark Lord said. If the old families wanted their way of life to survive, if wizardingkind as a whole wanted to stand a chance, they would need to draw clear borders. They would need to teach Muggleborns respect, they would need to restrict the existence of half-bloods, they would need to be firm. It wasn’t the fight, he doubted. It was the erratic outbreaks of unnecessary violence, the unwise decision for unsavory allies, the continuously less coherent strategy. You didn’t teach respect to dead bodies, you didn’t breed a new generation of wizards on ashes.

And yet. In a world, going insane, in a place, where evil reigned and was obviously bound to win over, the choice wasn’t, if to join its forces, but when, how, and to what end. Sooner or later he would need to show allegiance, if to survive, to prevent the worst, to protect those bound to him or just to continue his pursue for information and influence. For, the longer the war went on, the more of the proud old families lost their independent standing and fell to the despicable half-blood and clearly not fully reasonable self-declared Dark Lord.

Regulus despised him, but would put up with him, if necessity arose. And maybe, if the picture was wrong, if he was the mighty wizard comparable to those of old, if he was still in his right mind, Regulus was willing to value his Slytherin heritage over the abominable thinning of wizard-blood. Willing to pay respect to a man, who put his line at risk for a mission, despite it being unpopular with all the light family good doers and tree huggers.

Until then though, Regulus protected his own. No matter what. And if this meant, well, personal service, so be it.

\----

Regulus wasn’t happy about the amount of work, Tristan put in the infirmary by now. True, it provided him with the means to continue his education, maintain his attire in a dignified state, pay for all the little details, a pure-blood _needed_ to set himself apart, to command the respect he deserved.

But it took away time, Tristan also needed for said education. This would be his OWL year and though no parent had any say in his results anymore, Regulus intended to fill that gap and informed him about it. Tristan didn’t object, yet, countered, he need not fear, his time in the infirmary would be advantageous and he would still show his best in the exams.

And then, suddenly, it became the least of Regulus concerns about the wretched, annoyingly constant strain on Tristan’s time, as Tristan was not as usual still working, when he came to get him. Instead, the boy sat on a bench in front of the infirmary, alone, coiled into an upright foetal position and stared, idly chewing at the inner cheek.

Regulus sat down next to him, his hand brushing Tristan’s side just enough to be noticed, before he placed it between them on the wood. “What happened?”

Tristan shrugged and leaned over. “Too tired for a privacy charm. Could you?” The whisper was drawn out and noticeably imprecise enough to get Regulus full attention.

With worried gesture he weaved a sophisticated charm together that shielded them from both unkind eyes and ears, before reaffirming his inquiry.

Tristan slumped against him, his head resting at Regulus’ shoulder, the muscles loosened by complete exhaustion. “There were... people. Hurt from the war. Two wizards and a witch, badly burned. One was…” He shuddered at the memory. “He was barely older than us. A Hufflepuff. From last year or the year before.”

Regulus shivered in shared shock for a second and pulled Tristan closer, almost into his lap. To hell with composure, the privacy charm would do its job. Soothingly combing his hand through the strands loosened from Tristan’s pony tail, he waited for him to go on, knowing, the small Malfoy would, in his own time.

“I took care of him, Madam Pomphrey of the others… And… When I started, he woke up. And he screamed.” Tristan’s head fell back, the eyes wider than on strong potions, almost choking on a single breath, when the words blurred into sobs. “I wanted it to stop. All I wanted was for it to stop. And then, it did and… he was dead, Regulus. I wished, and he was dead. And...” The grip of his hands on Regulus’ arms intensified, until it took all of the older boy’s restraint not to wince. “And all I could think of was, what if it was Sirius. Or Remus… What I… had wished them… to stop… to die.”

Tears streaked the pale face now, while he literally broke down into Regulus’ lap, burying himself in the protection of his arms and the safety of his body.

Regulus let him. Or rather, was too shaken to do much else. It was wrong. It was wrong, such things happened. It was even more wrong to put them onto the shoulders of a kid. To let someone as fragile as Tristan even see it, no, even know, such existed. And yet. Despite working until he could literally not cast anymore, despite the emotional torture of watching his patient die, despite the guilt this entailed, he was still coherent enough to wait for Regulus. He still gathered himself after a few attempts, gaining back enough strength to walk on his own feet, when Regulus escorted him to their room.

There, the door closed and warded, he let go of his composure. “This needs to stop” he growled firmly and could feel Tristan’s tired resignation.

“It can’t. If it wasn’t for me… Madam Pomphrey alone can only do so much.”

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to believe it, all he wanted, was to keep _Tristan_ safe. Not someone faceless, unknown. Mad, or maybe madly concerned, Regulus pushed him down on the bed, whose welcoming softness and warmth seemed to intensify his lingering tiredness. “You endanger yourself. Someone may find out.”

Tristan slurred, already half asleep: “Can we talk about it later?” pulling the older boy down with him, with a boldness that might have shocked his woken mind. It definitely shocked Regulus. “I need to rest.”

The way, he nuzzled his face into Regulus’ side told his protector, he needed more than just that. Clenching his jaw, he looked over, right into the half closed, sad, vulnerable grey eyes and cursed to himself. He had so firmly believed he could contain his affection. But was his hurt dignity worth leaving the most important person in his life without the help, he needed? Right now?

“Dammit” he uttered, shed his robes and helped Tristan with his, before encasing him in a firm embrace. Tristan’s eyes fell shut with relaxation and tiredness, giving him every excuse to trace the long lines on the lean body with his fingertips, before carefully tugging him into the blankets. “I love you” he whispered into the hair of the sleeping boy unwilling to let go again.

\----

Waking up, almost naked, pressed against another warm body made all the difference. Tristan felt safe, he felt cared for, and he felt happy. Slowly, carefully he turned in Regulus’ arms, until he could touch his face, could reach out and draw small lines and circles all over his face and arms and chest. He would have done more, if he had been sure, the older boy would want it. Sure, he had had his share of terrible moments, of encounters, he’d rather not repeat. But before that, below that, embedded in the feeling, he still struggled to describe, because it seemed so much more than just… love, there always had been desire.

The wish to touch, to feel, to become one with another, now focused exclusively onto one person only. One person, who couldn’t even understand, who kissed like the devil, while remaining regrettably oblivious and inexperienced in everything else. Tristan wanted to teach him. Wanted to worship him. Wanted to lay down his body, his dreams, his whole life, just for him. But he dared not. The moment, he accepted their agreement, his fate was sealed. He was tied to Regulus’ wishes and he wouldn’t step back from that.

So he restricted himself to light touches, fingertips, lips, his tongue, softly sliding over Regulus’ jaw, leaving barely any moisture, with how careful he was. He knew exactly, when his companion woke up, groaning, then freezing in position. “Tris?”

Twitching in helpless arousal, he nodded, breathing long, warm streaks of air onto Regulus’ skin. “Please.” He had only whispered and was still proud, he had even managed that.

Regulus watched him closely with an expression of confusion. “Tris?” This time a little more insistent, more inquisitive.

Tristan bit his lip, panting softly and swallowed thickly, trying so hard to clear his thoughts. Or at least his throat. But how could he even explain this to Regulus, who until now, hadn’t even thought of more than just kisses, and even them, reluctantly? Asking for permission without any words, he dipped his fingers lower, only slightly moving over the waistline, his eyes all pleading.

“Are you sure?” Regulus breathed, annoyingly concerned.

Tristan appreciated the consideration, but nodded firmly, before placing kiss after kiss all over Regulus’ front.

The older boy rolled onto his back and watched him for a moment, before placing a hand in his hair. He didn’t try to control anything, he only held on, as if to feel Tristan’s excitement second hand.

The small Malfoy didn’t hesitate anymore. He nipped and licked kisses all over Regulus’ abdomen, dipping into the navel, tasting the sweat from his body. His hands struggled with his lover’s boxers, until the older boy helped. Then, finally, he was, where he wanted to be, doing, what he wanted to do: driving Regulus insane with lust, need, pleasure. Most lessons, he had ever had on this specific topic, had been unpleasant, but they were worth it for this, this alone. Listening to Regulus’ moans shaking his body, his appraisal of Tristan’s actions becoming incoherent, his grasp with reality getting undone – it took everything out of Tristan to stay calm and focused, despite the waves of lust washing over him, ready to drown him completely.

But Regulus wasn’t like the boys he had had before. Soon enough, he pulled Tristan up and closer, sharing kisses and touches and everything thereafter. He would never leave his lover behind. It was them both or none to him, and so, for the first time in his life, unused to another’s care, Tristan became untethered from the world, lost in the presence of his lover, his love and the things, he could make him feel.

When he came with a strangled gasp, the breath hitching and his face hidden against Regulus’ skin, it took him ages to find back to reality, so entangled in his lover’s body and his warm, protective hold. “Thank you.” Still plastered against Regulus’ body, he relaxed, inhaling his scent, fully content in lying in the semidarkness of impeding dawn.

Regulus chuckled. “You really shouldn’t steal my lines, sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After yesterday's chapter I needed this more fluffy thing. Lots and lots of cuddling, yay.


	17. Distrusts breeds distrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teacher implies, Regulus' and Tristan's agreement is not as much of a secret as they think. And demands concessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud of this one, and I want to thank my husband greatly for helping me figure some characters out. His opinion and advice is invaluable for this story. So yeah... thank you, hubbie.

It was late, but Regulus and Tristan were still awake. The combination of infirmary duties and OWL preparations made for a difficult mixture that allowed little to no free time, so they worked late most evenings even so early in term, Regulus doing his best to prepare his companion along with his own homework.

Mostly the evenings were quiet, but since Regulus was now prefect, it was far from rare, he got called away. Therefore a knock on the door didn’t raise their suspicion. With relaxed motion Regulus stood up and opened the door, shielding the room from sight with his body, while Tristan remained bowed over his Transfiguration homework at the desk.

It was however not a student, asking for the prefects help. Instead, Professor Slughorn waited patiently for him. “Ah, Mr. Black, may I come in?”

Regulus tried to conceal his distrust. He had rejected all attempts to pull him into Slughorn’s little collection, knowing, for the ridiculously, pathetically ambitious man he was but another price, another trophy to be gained, the perfect scion of the famous (or infamous) House Black. He hated the jovial demeanor, the overly intimate smiles, most of all the seemingly accidental touches, implying familiarity that simply wasn’t there. But he could hardly reject the valid request of his head of house. Reluctantly he stepped away from the door, letting Slughorn enter, while hiding the scowl behind a mask of boredom.

The older man was no idiot though. Regulus saw his eyes wander over the room’s interior. The existence of two trunks, two duvets, two sets of toiletries didn’t go unnoticed. He wasn’t exactly astonished, this happened. It would, eventually. Honestly, the only surprise was that it took so long.

“I take it this arrangement is not as temporary, as I expected it to be, when I first became aware of it?” Slughorn asked in conversational tone.

Regulus glanced at Tristan, placing himself between the professor and the small Malfoy, who tried not to look too scared or guilty and failed in both. “I saw a need, not yet addressed by the teachers or school rules and provided” he simply stated. “The need has not disappeared.”

Slughorn shrugged softly, as if it didn’t matter at all. “I have been made aware the results of Mr. Malfoy have improved since your intervention. Yet…”

Regulus eyed him, the jaw set, the face a mask of arrogant dismissal.

“Professor Flitwick talked to me about his concerns regarding one of _his_ students.” Slughorn didn’t seem concerned at all. More likely excited, sniffing for an opportunity to gain advantage with the same determination a hungry dog searched for a delicious bone.

Regulus wouldn’t have bought it, even if he had been better at hiding. “What do you intend to do about it?” He did not fold his arms; he did not let his mask slip. He presented the cold elegance and nonchalance expected of him.

“Nothing.” Slughorn grinned. “Nothing, really.” He spread his arms, implying friendly forgetfulness. “Both your… performances have been exceptional. Mr. Malfoy may struggle in the practical work, but compared to his previous achievements…” The grin morphed into a satisfied smirk.

Instantly Regulus changed tactics. “Then… what do you want?” He could feel Tristan’s attention now equally pressing as Slughorn’s. But while he couldn’t care less about the latter, the former and his very real fears affected him greatly. He risked a small reassuring glance, before facing Slughorn again.

The professor inhaled dramatically. “I only came here to assure the voluntary nature of this… I think it best to have everyone remain friends.”

Regulus seethed, although he was able not to let it show. That was, what the old chap was after. He had always wanted Regulus and the number of Tristan’s little stunts in the infirmary had tipped him off, here was another diamond in the rough, no one else had noticed yet. “Fine. We are fine here. Thank you, professor. And to assure you, we continue to be just… fine, I am most willing to attend your… gatherings regularly.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tristan’s tense face, telling him more than anything, he hadn’t been able to keep his anger out of his voice, but he didn’t care. Slughorn didn’t either. “With your friend?” he asked.

“With my friend” Regulus assured grimly. “But…” If he was now relying on Slughorn’s secrecy – by Morded, what a mess – he would at least make the most of it. “My comrade has been working very hard to maintain his grades while providing for himself with his work in the infirmary, yet, he has been threatened with expulsion. I am sure, your influence would grant him a little leniency?”

Slughorn nodded excitedly. “Of course, of course. I assume, professor Flitwick is fully on my side in this, anyways. He is only concerned, Mr. Malfoy here may be held back from reaching his full potential by… exterior influences.”

Regulus exchanged a look with Tristan, both were more than worried.

“He decided to … well… deploy the service of a mindhealer to gain information on the state of Mr. Malfoy’s blockades. You will be informed of the terms and appointment details.” The last sentence contained steely conviction, fully unexpected from Slughorn. It implied with perfect clarity, this was not negotiable.

Regulus shrugged. “We will make sure, his service is not wasted.” He would have said more, but he could almost physically feel Tristan’s rising panic. He needed to get Slughorn out of here, so he could care for it. Tristan wouldn’t want the professor to witness a breakdown. Especially when there would be no breakdown at all, if he could intervene in time. “Good night, Professor. It is late, and we have classes tomorrow.” With that, he ushered the man out of the room, adding just a little bit of an apologetic smile to appease his vanity.

When the door closed, he smiled at Tristan and invited him to his side with a gesture. Embracing the little Malfoy, he stroked his hair and back soothingly, calming both Tristan and his own racing thoughts. With both Slughorn and Flitwick knowing, he would certainly need more leverage to make sure, the boy remained in his care. Teachers had the annoying tendency to fix what did not need fixing.

\----

Tristan couldn’t help but feel grateful. Madam Pomphrey wasn’t a teacher and she never treated him like a student. Even, when she taught him things, it was always with fondness, as she knew well, he learned with dedication, not because he needed to, but to give the persons in his care the best possible treatment.

Furthermore she respected him, like she would have respected an adult. Where the professors only saw his age, she saw, what he put up with, taking care of himself, learning, balancing all the duties put on his shoulders on his own, without so much as acknowledgement from the people, tasked to take care of him.

So it was Madam Pomphrey he went to with the problem at hand. He explained, he dreaded to have a mindhealer sort through his head, diagnose, analyze, categorize, or whatever it was, they did. He dreaded, what he would find, for there were so many secrets he needed to keep and no way to hide them from one of them, especially since he was expected to cooperate, which more or less forbid the extended use of occlumency.

“Have no worries, dear” the nurse assured him. “Ministry mindhealers swear the Unbreakable Vow to keep the contents of the mind of their patients a secret. Besides: we will do it here and I will watch him carefully. If he so much as twitches the wrong way, I will intervene.”

That was almost enough for him. He trusted her with his secrets, because she trusted him with hers. It would take one word from him to have her expelled. Into a world where resistance sympathizers could get into serious trouble. One secret insured the other. He didn’t trust the healer though. “If it is like that, he won’t hesitate to swear the same to me?”

The somewhat cheeky suggestion left Madam Pomphrey speechless for a moment, but then she nodded approvingly. “He may. We will ask.”

\----

Analyzing Slughorn wasn’t that hard. The man had ambition, the man had vanity. He _lived_ for his connections to everyone important. He basked in the reflected light of his successful students and assisted gladly to help them to even greater heights by providing just the right ties. All in all this wasn’t incriminating, though. If Regulus wanted control over this annoyingly slippery variable, he needed more. Better.

On a hunch he visited Slughorn in his study after classes, while Tristan was working, claiming, he was interested in information on some obscure magic. In fact, albeit using it as an excuse, Slughorn could be helpful to figure out, what Tristan had done, back when he saved him from dying. He still remembered thinking that no usual healing charm would have been that draining. He only needed a way to ask Slughorn about it with just the right amount of interest and distance to have him hooked without showing, he had experienced the spell.

At first, the professor was more than happy to offer his assistance. He smiled like a boy opening his Christmas presents and finding exactly what he wished for. But when Regulus started explaining, what spell he was interested in, the old man grew nervous. The smile faded from his eyes and distorted his lips, instead of complimenting them. “I fear I cannot help you.”

“Professor” Regulus sighed. “I take it, this is far from the usual curriculum of Hogwarts and I can assure you, I do not intend practical application. The information however would be almost… invaluable to me.” Adding a bit of an innocent embarrassment and deliberate pleading paved his way to the professor’s heart easily. Or would have. Normally.

Instead, the old man looked reserved. Almost Afraid. “Mr. Black, I am _not_ able to help you.”

Regulus dropped the mask. It didn’t work anyways. “This is Dark Arts?” he deduced coolly and added on Slughorn’s reluctant nod: “You did tell someone else about something else. Did you? And it backfired. Catastrophically.”” He didn’t need another confirmation, than the slight unease on Slughorn’s face. It was all the leverage, he would ever need on Slughorn. Without even a single detail – although he _would_ do some digging, of course – but now, his interest was sparked. And it would help his cause to put the professor’s fears to rest.

“Listen, professor, I am on a life debt here. And I fear for the... donor.” He knew, Slughorn could connect the dots and hoped, it would add to his greed for unique greatness. “We both know, you don’t want me to find it on my own.”

The professor studied him inquisitively and nodded then. “This would be the “Lifestealer”-Curse. Used to save those close to death on expense of a sacrifice. If applied successfully, it may exceed the effect of any other generalized healing spell. It may however result in the death of the… the… donor, the recipient or both.” They both noticed how this description mirrored Regulus’ hauntingly, as the pieces of the puzzle fell into their place. Regulus exhaled, carefully preserving an aura of composure. Oh damn, what had Tristan gotten into?

\----

The mindhealer was a man of indeterminable age. Behind those thick glasses he could have been a pessimistic forty year old or a well-preserved octogenarian. What intrigued and scared Tristan most, was not his face though. Not his overly understanding eyes, not his neutral expression, not even the strain of hardly identifiable emotions flashing in and out of perception. It was his hands, soft, pale, long-fingered hands, so delicate they had never seen hard work, resembling tweezers more than human appendages.

Tristan bit his fist to stop himself from shaking, before someone noticed and stepped into the room, he was called to, where the dreadful man waited. He couldn’t fully suppress the nervous twitching in his cheek, couldn’t present the cold mask of disinterest he needed. “I am Tristan Malfoy.” It sounded breathless, but that was better than sounding as scared as he actually was.

The gaze of the man pinned him in place and he felt a first surge of his prying mind, though for the moment he was still able to keep him out. “Very well. Place take a seat, so we can get started.”

Tristan shook his head. “I am sure, you are aware of extended need for privacy in some clients.” Madam Pomphrey stepping into the room, behind him, laughed out at that.

The healer nodded, his brow furrowing, and turned his attention away for a moment. “And you believe yourself to be one of them?” He could barely contain his contempt.

Tristan fixed his eyes on the others, forgetting about his fears in a sudden rise of anger. “I have no idea, what you take me for, but I am son of a Noble and Most Ancient House, soon to be of age. My life depends on keeping its secrets, my honor on my constant vigilance.” He chuckled a bit at Alastor Moody’s catchphrase, until he noticed the mindhealer’s sudden interest. Oh, a crack in the other’s armor. Did Regulus feel like this all the time?

He tilted one brow and suggested: “As soon as you can assure me of your confidentiality, you may start your analysis. Until then…” He tipped his head provocatively, smiling freely for the first time in this encounter. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good old Slughorn is a bit shaken... ;)


	18. To snake or not to snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan face the realities of the Dark Arts. And Slughorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The days to my new job are dwindling, but I am still ahead, and quite proud for that. And the two are really growing on me (like fungus, I guess), for I think a lot about the story. Seems, like it will be going. Slower, maybe, but still moving.

The mindhealer withdrew his hands from the table, clenching them into whitening fists. His eyes rested on Tristan with an unreadable expression, yet his full posture removed him from the small Malfoy, put distance between them.

After revisiting some of his most traumatic memories in the duration of the last hour Tristan found his retreat refreshing. He had difficulties, restraining the cold fury that sought for an outlet, a target. “Have you seen enough?” he snarled, his hands for a change shaking from anger instead of fear. “Do I deserve the… enhanced privacy, I forced you to swear? Have you figured me out?”

The healer chose to remain silent for another while, before finally answering. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Malfoy. And my apologies for doubting your… well-deserved concerns.” His long fingers reappeared, drumming nervously on the table surface. “I fear though, I am unable to help you. Whatever it is, that holds you back, the key is not in your past.”

Tristan’s lips curled into a cruel smile, though he couldn’t say, if he mocked the mindhealer or merely himself and his inability to stay away from pain, fear and suffering. “I figured. But I am used to people valuing their opinion over mine.” He could see, he had scored a hit, but took no pride in it. “If you’d excuse me now?”

Madam Pomphrey, who had watched the whole exchange without intervening, opened the door for him, but the mindhealer called him back. “Wait, Mr. Malfoy. We are not finished here.”

Frustrated he turned back and sat down again. “Then, what else?” More and more hurt and sorrow showed through the threadbare fabric his momentary rage had created, and he didn’t want to show any more than he already had.

“You… might still profit from treatment, to be honest” the mindhealer tested the ground.

The only reason, Tristan manages a laugh, was, so it wasn’t a cry, and both sounded embarrassingly similar. “You realize what you are talking about?” He leaned forward, more threateningly, than he even thought possible. “Supposed, I was even interested, supposed, I could even pay for it, supposed I would _trust_ the likes of you. There is no way I’d jeopardize my good name and reputation for this farce you try to sell as help.” He pursed his lips in disgust and ended: “We deal with our problems on our own.” And he couldn’t say, what he meant. Malfoys? Pure-bloods? Slytherin even? It didn’t matter. He had Regulus and Regulus had him. There was no need for more.

\-----

_“Pay the price.”_

_“A price must be paid…”_

_“There is no joy, if not paid by suffering.”_

_“Pay….”_

A babble of voices, whispering, tempting, mocking. Cruel voices, gentle voices, cold voices and warm ones. Alien, almost inhuman ones and ones so familiar, he can almost guess, who it must be. It is dark, and he knows not, where he is nor how he came to the place. No other sound than the voices, no hint of anything else, not even touch, beyond the ground below his feet, not even motion, beyond his own breath, not even noise, other than the voices.

Suddenly the sensation of falling and impact. Pain, racing through his body, as if every single bone in it is pulverized, leaving him a helpless puppet on the wet and slippery ground. Slippery with his own blood, that is softly squirting out of his body with each labored breath, each pained cough. Strangely, albeit inhuman, the pain isn’t unbearable; it is merely affecting his broken body, not his soaring mind.

Darkness lifts, leaving an uneven twilight, where he is circled by shadow and light, slowly morphing into two gigantic snakes, one white, shining like sunlight, painfully blinding, the other soothingly dark, a mere shadow, soft and velvety, yet no less dangerous.

Or maybe they aren’t gigantic, but he is small. Insignificant, meaningless.

His blood though spreads over the ground, the puddle growing slowly but surely, until the circling snakes and his bloody pool intertwine. Until the snakes scales are tipped with the red of his life, both light and darkness softened by his sacrifice.

“You are ours…” the light snake whispers, its voice unpleasantly hard, almost brittle. “You are ours…” repeats the dark one, deceivingly gentle. Both voices cruel, in their perfection, in their bias. One, full of self-righteous judgement, the other full of tempting corruption.

“You can choose…” whispers the dark one, gliding closer, its scales a caress of his broken body, interlacing pleasure with the pain. “You can choose…” hisses the light one, brushing by, his body burning so much, the hurt disappears into merciful numbness.

He screams. He wants neither. He can’t be judging, for he does not want to be judged. He can’t drift into darkness for darkness has drowned him.

“Choose, choose, choose…” they encourage him, each in their own way, not even stopping, when he screams again, wordless, for his body feels unable to form even a single word. They rotate around him, until the whole universe consists of merely two snakes, intertwined, circling his pained remnants. “Chose or die…” one whispers, he can’t say which anymore. “Choose _and_ you die…” counters the other.

He doesn’t, and they rise, facing each other above his broken remains. “You don’t choose, so we share…” both hiss in unison, suddenly pleasant, in their combined voice. When they slide over him, one to his feet, the other to his head, the pain ceases, yet the inability to move, remains, making him realize in horror, how they open their mouths over him, starting to swallow him whole…

\----

Tristan woke screaming, his whole body covered in cold sweat. Regulus tried to calm him, but he could only stop him from crying out again, but not from shaking, sweating, breathing inhumanly fast, his body ghostly pale.

Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared up to his lover. “I think I made a terrible mistake.”

Regulus bend down to kiss him, and to whisper in his ear soothingly: “It was just a nightmare. Because of the mindhealer. Remember?” But he couldn’t help breaking goosebumps too at the sight of Tristan’s expression.

“That’s not it. I… cast something truly dark. Once. And doomed me… and maybe… you too.” He tried to smile apologetically, but didn’t manage it, still captive to the terror of his dream.

Regulus snorted disapprovingly. “That’s not, how the Dark Arts work, sweet.” Absent-mindedly he fished for his wand, and cast another layer of privacy charms, before continuing. “They won’t tell you that, with all the light prejudices, with all the misunderstanding of muggleborns, of what it truly _means_ to be a wizard. And… frankly speaking, your father did a shitty job in preparing you, but… Dark is not the same as evil. Dark is… dangerous. Tempting. Stronger, mightier, more powerful. It comes at a price. The power has to be fueled.” He started caressing the damp skin, combing the sweaty hair. “Some power it with hatred and it poisons their souls. Some power it with sacrifice, with blood… You know, how they end.”

Tristan nodded uneasily, only slightly relaxing into Regulus’ touch.

“But it need not be evil. What you did to me… for me… do you really think, someone, anyone in his right mind would damn you for it?” He held Tristan’s face and forced him to lock eyes with him.

“How did you find out?” the smaller boy whispered, still shaken, but starting to unwind under Regulus’ continued caress.

He smiled down and sighed. “You shouldn’t have done that, but not for the reasons you think. I want you to never again put your life at risk for mine.”

“Don’t ask that of me” Tristan pleaded, eyes wide, continuing to give the most beautiful explanation he had ever heard. “For maybe I wouldn’t be able to decide in time, if it was necessary to break my word, and would in turn not only lose my honor, but my life and yours in the process.”

Regulus couldn’t handle such devotion. And yet… He had asked for it, now he had to deal with it. And be in turn better the man to deserve it, or he would never be able to look himself in the eyes again. “I won’t make it an order. I only wish… you wouldn’t.” He pulled Tristan up into his lap. He needed him closer now, needed to feel him still alive. “But to put your mind at ease: you can find other ways to fuel the dark and you will, in time. Remember: Mordred commanded the dark, but so did Merlin.”

Tristan looked up to him, the face carefully neutral, but, oh his eyes… Regulus felt dissected by his eyes. “What do you do to fuel the Dark?”

For the first time in their whole relationship he felt weak, inferior even. He had never really thought about it. He had never questioned his moral compass nor his conviction. “Not much. I… do not regularly use them. Or at all, really. Not in school anyways.” It was a flimsy excuse and Tristan knew it. Regulus felt bad about it. “I will need to do some serious thinking, I guess.”

Tristan nodded, still perched on Regulus’ lap and caressed him gently. “I know, you will. And so will I.”

Regulus began to ask himself, how he deserved someone like him.

\----

After potions class Slughorn asked Tristan to stay behind. Immediately he got nervous. As usual, he was already late, not to be caught in the corridors alone, something that still featured prominently in his nightmares. By now, Regulus would be waiting.

“You may invite him in” the professor suggested on his look to the door. “And then, take a seat.”

Tristan obeyed immediately and an irritated Regulus flounced into the classroom, sitting down next to him after a hint. Tristan couldn’t help but smile at the protective pose he sported, even going so far as to lean forward to partly shield Tristan from Slughorn’s eyes.

“What is it, professor?” Tristan started, before Regulus could give his heated emotions away. Protection was a game, more than one could play.

Slughorn leaned back, watching their dynamics silently for a moment, his face emotionless. Probably he saw the exchange of glances, the short meeting of hands, the way they protected each other’s weaknesses. Tristan knew he was incapable to hide completely. And it left him afraid.

When the silence started to get threatening, the old man finally spoke. “Professor Flitwick informed me about his disappointment of the attempted mindhealing. He suggested specific tutoring as next step.”

Tristan watched him warily. “Then why are we having this conversation with you, sir?” He tried to sound conversational, but wasn’t completely successful. He could feel Regulus smirk.

Slughorn all the while looked completely unabashed. “I assumed, you did try that and offered to take matters into my hand, due to my knowledge of more obscure magic and phenomena.” Of course he would. Flitwick was not one to dig into the affairs of his students unbidden. Slughorn though… His hunger for fame and glory, even if second-hand always outbid his modesty.

Tristan felt Regulus sigh, as he came to the same conclusion. “I am not sure, how this plays any role under the circumstances” he now interjected, one risen hand commanding Tristan into silence. The tension in his body was obvious.

The professor smiled like a cat with a bowl of cream now. “The performance of extraordinary magical prowess under specific circumstances sounds obscure enough to me.” It left them both guessing, what he was up to, so Regulus turned to give him a carefully contained look.

“How does _he_ know?” Tristan mouthed timidly, triggering a guilty look from his protector. “ _You_ told him?”

Regulus shrugged and turned back to Slughorn, now very angered. “If this is, how you handle confidentiality, this ends here and now, before something severe goes amiss.” His eyes flared, as he added in an almost freezing voice: “Sir.”

But Slughorn seemed unfazed. “My dear Mr. Black, I am quite impressed of your firm attitude to protect your friend from harm, but I fear, it is a necessary evil to inform him.”

Regulus all but growled: “Can you give us a minute, please?” the polite phrasing completely contradicting the emotions embedded. On Slughorn’s indulgent nod, he turned to Tristan, completely obscuring him from the professor’s sight.

Tristan held onto his hand, squeezing them gently and tried to look confident. “I’m not mad at you.”

Regulus still looked worried. “He won’t let matters rest, and unfortunately, we need his connivance.” Shortly he hugged his younger companion. “I’ll protect you, though. Promise.”

Tristan grinned. “You know, I am perfectly capable to have a conversation myself. I am no Slytherin, but I learned from the best.”

That made Regulus chuckle too. “No Slytherin, my ass. You are every inch more Slyth than your brother, sweet.” With this shared laughter they felt prepared for Slughorn’s intrusion, and it was Tristan, rather than Regulus, who asked: “What do you intend to achieve with this talk, sir?”

Finally, Slughorn did come to his point. Clicking his tongue, he answered: “I’d like to inspect your magical core. I am aware, this is a very… delicate matter, but since it also requires preparation and maybe assistance, I wanted to ask first, before letting quite a lot of work go to waste.”

Tristan eyed him. “I’ll consider. If you’ll excuse us now: we will be late for our classes, and professor Vector is very strict on the rules.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! Tristan in full Slytherin mode... I wanted to write that! What do you think?


	19. Family resemblance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Halloween both Tristan and Regulus show, what they do best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like, how this is progressing. Have fun with me.

With the end of October, close to Halloween, it suddenly got very cold. Rainstorms whipped over the castle and made any attempt to go outside a taxing matter. Within minutes, even the best coats tended to flap wetly around the body, barely able to withstand the constant dribble, and the winds pulled at hair and fabric mercilessly.

In a way, this isolated Hogwarts even more from the outside world than usually, making the halls and corridors an oasis of peace (or rather, the illusion of peace). Tristan knew better. A bad feeling crept up on him, leaving him uneasy and jumpy.

Being expected on Slughorn’s Halloween party together with Regulus didn’t help the matter either. Too many of his former tormentors were successful students in the more common way and fit right into Slughorn’s preferred pattern. Tristan was _not_ looking forward to see them.

Besides, there was no saying, how many of the guests were children of deatheaters or marked themselves as well, maybe friends of Lucius even, who would gladly do, what he couldn’t anymore, since he had finished Hogwarts or because of the unreliable prohibition of Abraxas. Of course, Regulus had promised, not to leave him out of his eyes, but Tristan knew, he couldn’t rely on that. Only a minute of distraction might be enough.

Still, there was no way out of this. Regulus was right. They needed the professor on their side and his conditions had been quite clear. The only thing, Tristan could do, was prepare himself to the best of his knowledge, and since he couldn’t do most wards and counterspells, he had to use more physical means to defend himself, starting with the small, but very sharp knife strapped against the back of his body. Then, several layers of clothing, fitted into each other not to be stripped easily, padding his body, where needed.

Finally, it was them, appearing early on, so they could check the room inconspicuously, mapping out each and every corner to hide from sight or to keep in mind, in case someone wanted to get to his back. Strange, how they didn’t even need to talk about it, as they worked together efficiently, only exchanging words or looks, when absolutely necessary.

It worked so well that when Slughorn’s party eventually started to get crowded, Tristan had found a favorite safe corner, the doors in sight, a comfortable wall at his back. He could watch without being seen much, people could talk to him, if they needed and not get at his back.

Unfortunately, just, when he was about to feel at ease, Slughorn decided not to leave him be. Without so much as a fair warning he came over, taking him by the sleeve and dragged him after him, so he couldn’t politely decline, with the words: “I need to introduce you to someone.”

And thus, the torture started.

\----

Regulus, although fully immersed in the duties of his social status, always kept half an eye on Tristan. He could see his uncomfortable shifting of weight, the slight tension in his limbs, but for now, it wasn’t worth intervening. A warning look here or there, a possessive little gesture was more than enough to keep the hounds at bay. He loved this play, and although he wouldn’t have played it by Slughorn’s rules at his own choice, it was still intoxicating. He, in contrast to Tristan (and possibly even Slughorn), could tell who wore the mark, and took care to both keep them away from his lover and interest them in contacting _him_ , so he could test the water for his own… well… declaration.

And the dance, almost… courting, leading to it… albeit not even closely resembling sexuality, there was… seduction in it, and he played his role perfectly, willing victim and seducer in person. Every smile, every look, even every breath well-measured, a complicated, yet beautiful ritual, only pure-bloods would ever master… And even then… he doubted even most of them. It took a Black or the likes for that. Arcturus would be proud of him.

Offering just the right amount of interest. And resistance. Just to keep it juicy. He felt safer though, that neither Sirius, nor James Potter or Lily Evans were there. They wouldn’t understand. And he would have an argument of epic proportions with his dear brother. Better that they had left Hogwarts prior to this, giving him a freedom to act on his instincts.

Suddenly silences washed through the room, making the few remaining conversations stand out against a background of startled confusion. Madam Pomphrey, far from looking festive, had just entered the premises and now talked to Professor Slughorn insistently under the safety of a silencing charm. Then and again he nodded slightly alarmed, although he kept his face in check well enough. Finally he gestured in a direction and nodded her goodbye. Soon thereafter, she left, Tristan at her side. Regulus furrowed his brow. He couldn’t leave now, but he made sure, his path led him to Slughorn soon enough. The old man would have to do some explaining.

\----

They ran through the corridors and halls to the hospital wing, telling Tristan everything about how much Madam Pomphrey needed his help tonight. He didn’t delay her with hesitation or stupid questions and just joined her, until they entered the safety of the Infirmary and then the more… secluded Infirmary. “Thank you, Tristan” she whispered, not yet removing the final curtain to unveil what awaited them and warned then: “It is, however, quite bad. I don’t expect us to see a bed tonight. Or save them all. Are you up to that?”

Instead of answering, he just stepped to her side and pulled the fabric away himself. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in and looked around, checking, if he knew any of the faces. “Moody?” he exclaimed, as one of the faces, still distorted by pain, turned towards him.

“Mordred’s hairy balls… The little Malfoy” the auror rasped and coughed slightly. “Don’t mind me, I will get over it.” Tristan looked over the other injuries and nodded them, taking the side of a heavily bleeding witch, as Madam Pomphrey choose her first patient.

He didn’t spare a look for her, but worked efficiently and carefully, removing clothing where necessary, casting healing and diagnostic spells sparsely, for he would need all his strength to get through the night. The witch frowned at first, when she looked up to him, but the longer he worked, concentrating fully on his task, the more she relaxed, especially, when the pain reliever, he offered her and which she took only reluctantly, eventually took effect. He left her alone after that, she would make it, probably with a few scars, but helping everyone preceded over beauty issues.

Next was an old woman, who only came to view at him, once he managed to remove the hex that made her muscles painfully contract. One look at him though, her face contorted into a mask of pure disgust. He tried to pretend, he didn’t notice, but she wouldn’t let him. She started spitting pure poison on him, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Close to tears, he walked over to Madam Pomphrey who had just finished setting some broken bones and handing out Skele-gro, and asked her to take over.

She did it, without complaint and didn’t bother casting a “Muffliato” before handing out a few select words about the treatment of people.

Tristan was now eye to eye with Moody again and nodded at him, a little sheepishly. “That looks bad. You should have told me” he announced softly, carefully removing traces of fabric from the deep scratches on the auror’s thigh.

Alastor Moody shrugged and smiled grimly. “I can take it, kid.” The sudden flash of pain over his features belied the relaxed mask though, and so Tristan began to work in earnest.

“I won’t ask, what happened. You’d probably lie anyways” he distracted Moody in conversational tone, while starting the first cleaning procedures, then added: “I only want to know, if they are ok. Have you heard from them?” He didn’t dare use names, but knowing Moody, he could connect the dots.

“Haven’t heard from them, for a few days, but I think, they are ok. Could use some change of scenery though, I guess.” He hissed, when Tristan began to apply salve on the open scratches, but caught himself quickly, changing back to the grimly amused appearance.

“Sorry, sir, I am not usually that careless” Tristan helped him keep face, though worriedly, for if Moody lost his face, if even for a moment… On a hunch, he ran some diagnostic spells and flinched. “I better get Madam Pomphrey though. I am not trained for this.”

Moody grabbed his sleeve and shook his head. “You do it.”

Tristan agreed reluctantly, but did get the nurse anyways to at least supervise his actions. Moody seemed content enough with that.

\----

The last of Tristan’s patients that night was a small tatty man who smelled more than a little of dirt. It seemed, he had little in common with the others and had only been brought, because of some nasty gashes caused by a cutting hex. Maybe he was just an innocent bystander who got caught in whatever battle Moody and the others had encountered, though “innocent” was kind of a stretch in his case, at least in Tristan’s opinion.

He only got near him, despite Madam Pomphrey’s earlier treatment, because the man continuously complained about his pains and disturbed the silence, the other’s so desperately needed for rest. “I will bring you something…” Tristan offered, ignoring the dirty look, he gave him and headed off to get one of the pain relief potions, he had brewed himself, earlier that week.

When he went back, Madam Pomphrey already dozed on her chair, beside the bed of the witch, Tristan had treated first. Probably she had been checking on it, just in case, and was too tired to finish. He shrugged and handed the potion over, when the little man suddenly jumped at him, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing hard. “I know, what you are doing, you little snake. Spying for your brother, are you?” he hissed, as Tristan began seeing stars. The back of his head hit the wall, as the little man pushed him forward, choking him further, while his vision blurred.

He couldn’t even answer, couldn’t even defend himself… He was so tired, so worn down, so weak… His hands scraped helplessly over the walls in search for something to help him, colliding with the handle of the small knife. It wouldn’t do him much good in a real fight, he thought, but at least, it would break this death grip and give him one good breath. Blindly he fished for it and stabbed up.

The grip lessened, just for a moment, and he gasped. Before it could return with increasing viciousness, he heard Moody’s roaring bass. “Leave the boy alone, Dunder.” Reluctantly the man removed his hands, leaving Tristan shaken and scared, with a few fresh drops on his already bloodied shirt.

\----

When Tristan returned in the dead of the night, slurring the password to the room, so badly, he had to repeat himself, Regulus was instantly fully awake. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, waiting for the younger boy, and was no righteous angry. But one look into the greyish face made his fury falter. Concern instantly took its place. “Tris…” In one smooth movement he rose. “What time is it?”

“Five… I think...” Tristan yawned, shedding his clothes and discarding it apathetically on the floor. He tugged himself in and set his wand to alarm him at seven, then fell asleep almost immediately.

Regulus on the other hand stayed awake. He couldn’t sleep anymore, as his thoughts started to spin. He didn’t know, where Tristan had gone nor what he had done, but his exhaustion pointed towards the infirmary. And today was school day. How was the boy supposed to continue learning, when Madam Pomphrey kept him up all night for whatever she had him doing?

Over the two hours, he waited, idly sorting through his papers and vainly tried to get some homework done, his thoughts had time to catch up quite some speed, so when Tristan woke up, still looking dead tired, he sat down beside him, sporting a grave expression.

“You do realize, you are in no state for classes?” He couldn’t decide, if it was more accusation or concern, despite the suppressed anger.

Tristan tried to gain full awareness, rubbing his eyes and swaying slightly. “Have to. Will. I’ve a pepper up potion with me. That will do.”

Regulus disagreed firmly, and within five minutes, they argued, Tristan insisting, this had been more important than school, without elaborating what that was, Regulus answering, he jeopardized his future with behavior like this.

Tristan seemed somewhat amused by this, despite his exhaustion. “Really, Regulus? What future exactly?” he sighed in resignation, patting his lover’s arm. “I am seriously, utterly, completely fucked, no matter, who wins this war.”

Was this, what this was about? The damned war? The thing, Regulus tried to ban from his thoughts whenever possible, because it was the one thing, he and Sirius (and probably now Tristan) could never agree on? “How so?” he challenged the smaller Malfoy harshly. But Tristan was too tired to take the bait. He just dressed, not bothering with cleaning or ironing charms for the only good set of robes, he owned by now, gulped down his potion and left, for once ignoring the need for protection. Regulus on the other hand couldn’t. No matter if he was angry or hurt, he wouldn’t let Tristan come to harm. So he quickly followed and joined him on his way to a quick breakfast.

“We need to talk about it, though” he dropped quickly, when he saw him off to class. Tristan didn’t seem too happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really pushing them into places, am I? I hope, I am not pushing too hard. If you feel, I railroad the characters too hard, let me know.


	20. Courting with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for the Christmas holidays are made. They are complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler I fear, though I like the dynamics. Let me know, what you think.

After the encounter with the obvious victims of one death eater attack – and Moody – Tristan had realized, that visiting Sirius for the holidays as he had last year, really wasn’t an option. If the summer holidays had been eventful, they would still stand no comparison to what would happen now. There was no safe place alongside the Marauders and he had realized early on, that although being useful, he was better placed behind the front lines, while Sirius and James, despite Remus tempering their recklessness, would never stand back.

That left him with a conundrum however, for he really couldn’t tell Regulus about it. He trusted him, with every single of his own secrets; he didn’t even have a doubt, that he would keep Sirius’ too. But expecting that would put him at greater risk than he probably realized. One slip in the wrong company would raise suspicions about him. And while Tristan had little illusions about his chances – they were about as good as those of a tasty little Muggle among werewolves – he didn’t want the same for Regulus. He was the one, who had the capacity, the strength, the endurance to survive. Tristan decided to do everything in his might, so he would.

And if this meant figuring things like this out on his own, so be it. At least, he had some ideas, blessed by the confidence he had gained from having a protector. During classes, so Regulus didn’t notice, he wrote a letter to the older Black brother with his suggestion, delivering it to the owlery, with some orders for potions he had placed for Slughorn and Madam Pomphrey.

\----

Regulus managed to get Tristan excused from every single of Slughorn’s private dinners, stating he could barely handle the doubled workload of OWL preparation homework and working in the Infirmary without additional social appointments. It wouldn’t have worked, if Tristan hadn’t by that point mostly replaced the potions teacher on brewing the simpler concoctions for healing purposes. But for that, he was thankful. The basic recipes didn’t appeal to his mind, he felt more attracted by more complex mixtures that tickled him in their handiwork as well as their intellectual value.

The younger Black found this incredibly beneficial. First, of course, Tristan could really use some break here and there, and sleeping soundly in the safety of Regulus’ prefect room, warded and silenced by his protector, was certainly a treat. Second, although the small Malfoy had both education and manners, as well as a rising confidence, he still preferred to communicate sparsely, isolating him uncomfortably in these meetings. And last, but definitely the opposite of least, it gave Regulus the freedom to navigate the minefield of pure-blood politics without having to give additional thought to his protégé’s vulnerabilities. He was raised under a harsh set of rules and wouldn’t understand, how Regulus could ever be cruel enough to unleash the very same on others for his own profit.

He lacked the necessary rigor. Regulus loved him for it, marveled in the innocence and faith, but he wouldn’t trust him among the wolves, while Regulus himself felt quite confident in his ability to howl. So he did.

At length he discussed with Odella Greengrass and Tybalt Yaxley about the pros and cons of Muggleborn registration versus complete isolation and how the recent mishaps of Hekate Bulstrode influenced the whole network of marriage proposals and marriage contracts of the most revered wizarding families in Great Britain.

Later that evening, he had the chance to talk to Caradoc Nott, nephew to one of the infamous members of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle and insinuated his interests in learning the conditions of receiving the Dark Mark over the Christmas holidays. He knew, Arcturus rooted for it, anyways, and had come to the conclusion that it was the only way to maintain enough influence in pure-blood circles to fulfill his two main duties: preserving and if possible increasing the strength of House Black and protect what was his. For both, he would need to outbid and outsmart Lucius Malfoy, which he couldn’t if he refused to participate what had become the most influential pure-blood gathering.

He bet, Tristan would disapprove, as would certainly Sirius. But at one point or the other you had to make unpopular, even risky choices to make ends meet.

\----

With the morning post Tristan had received not only one but two letters, arriving with inconspicuously normal owls, like you could see every day in the school owlery. He had expected one letter, not so soon, frankly, but two… That didn’t seem to be good news. In his position anything out of the ordinary held the seed of danger. That in mind, he went so far, as to analyze the letters, before even attempting to open them and felt quite stupid, when he found, that they were nothing but ordinary parchment, only adorned with a water-repelling charm, usually used for letters.

That in mind, he finally opened them. The first, was, just as he had assumed from Sirius, though it was longer, than he had thought:

_Hello Tristan,_

_Nice to hear from you and good thinking on your side. I talked to Fleamont and Euphemia about you and they agreed. You can stay with them over Christmas if you want to. They would be happy to have you. But, big time, little one, Lily told me, she held great hopes you would at least visit her often or even stay the whole time. She doesn’t go on missions right now and is fairly bored. I think, she will tell you the details herself, so my lips are sealed. Give Reg a hug from me and tell him, I miss him greatly._

_See you around,_

_Sirius_

_PS: don’t take the train. Someone is going to get you, better not to take any risks, right?_

The other letter left him puzzled, even when he opened it. It was short and he wasn’t even sure, if it was code, for the hand was almost unreadable, bend and wiggled around almost deliberately and looked almost like something nefariously alive. And still, it wasn’t cursed… After some time and quite a headache, he finally managed to decipher:

_Got you something for Christmas. Think, you will like it, but can’t send it now. Await to see you during the holidays. See, that you think of a way to get it safely back to your current location._

The signature was an absolute nightmare that puzzled him, until wild guessing finally yielded an educated guess: Alastor Moody. That reignited his worries. Whatever _Moody_ got for him and thought he would like it: he wasn’t sure, it would be good news. He was however sure he didn’t want Regulus to know about it just now. He burned both letters in one of the fires (his “Incendio still sucked) in the halls and turned back to more immediate problems. Defense against the Dark Arts. Double lesson…

\----

November went by, like it wasn’t even there, filled with too much work and little else. Even Slughorn’s little gatherings got repetitive by this point and the weather wasn’t helping either. The only good thing was, everyone else seemed to keep to themselves just as much, meaning, a few cases of Snorkel Nose aside, there was little to do in the infirmary, leaving Tristan with him, a thing, Regulus really began to enjoy.

They had by now still done little more than cuddling and the occasional hand job, but that was fine. Regulus liked it that way. Tristan’s proximity alone, the intimacy they shared, where far more than Regulus had ever imagined. If he had simply wanted sex, he could have had any girl (or even boy) he liked. They had talked about it, and Tristan had made entirely clear, he didn’t feel entitled to jealousy. In fact, it hurt a bit to hear it like that, for Regulus certainly felt jealous about Tristan, and still hated, how little he thought of himself.

But that was beside the point. He simply didn’t want anything else. He wanted Tristan and he wanted him at a speed, where he felt entirely sure, he didn’t pressure him into anything. Even, when he suspected, Tristan would have liked it quite a bit to have him go a step or two forward.

Still, feeling him close, having the opportunity to caress his arms, his ribs, his back, his… everything, made Regulus extremely comfortable. He couldn’t remember a time, where he slept so well. When he had felt so at ease.

Of course, soon the Christmas holidays would come. He would have to go without him for several weeks, never knowing, what the little Malfoy really did during this time, never having time to wonder either, for the so called holidays would probably encase more duties than school ever could. But for now, Regulus decided, not to care. Kissing Tristan’s hair, while he slept, he just watched how his face slowly succumbed to relaxation and darkness.

\----

Tristan didn’t even have time to worry about the exams, as they went by. He knew his written answers were correct. They always were. He also knew his practical work would mess it up. He already had failed in Defense, one subject he wouldn’t be allowed, to drop. And now, Professor Flitwick seemed hell-bent on letting him fail too, for every single spell, he announced for the exam list was on Tristan’s hate-list. He wasn’t a complete failure in all of them, but he still sucked. Fire-charms… awful, weather charms, a nightmare, wards, catastrophic.

It wasn’t a surprise, when the small teacher asked him to stay after the announcements. Partly awaiting the inevitable, partly showing respect, he sat down on a chair, bringing his face in level with the teacher’s. “Professor… I think, you already know, I will fail this exam.”

Flitwick nodded softly and studied him carefully, not yet revealing his hand. “I realized, yes. I also realized, you haven’t asked for help or tutoring a single time…”

Tristan shrugged. “It’s pointless. I… just…” There wasn’t a teacher-approved way to express this. “I just suck at most kinds of magic.”

“And you don’t, when it comes to the Infirmary, is that right?”

Tristan furrowed his brow, when he noticed that Flitwick hadn’t even flinched, but nodded slowly.

“Maybe an apprenticeship would fit your purpose better than the usual wizarding educational path. I could… make inquiries” the professor suggested in a surprisingly friendly tone.

But he had to decline. “I can’t. Even if I wished so.”

Flitwick looked at him for a very long time before finally nodding, somehow content. “Very well. Come and tell me, if you ever find yourself changing your mind.”

Strangely, Tristan felt reassured. “I will.”

\----

The last day before the majority of students would leave for Christmas was almost done, all the end of term exams written and graded, the infirmary cleaned thoroughly in hopes, that no one did have any last minute accidents.

Tristan headed back to what now, in his mind was firmly established as home: Regulus’ room. Today though, he dreaded to arrive there, slowing down his pace unconsciously, until even his companion noticed it. Of course, they didn’t start a discussion about it in the corridors, or even in the common room. Regulus only gave him a friendly nudge from time to time to remind him, they had to go.

It wasn’t, until the door was firmly shut, warded and silenced, that he turned to Tristan with a questioning look. “What’s going on, Tris?”

He didn’t immediately answer, bought time instead, by carefully putting away his satchel, before returning the gaze. “I know, what you intend to do.” He left it hanging. Regulus knew what he wanted to say, he knew, it wouldn’t matter. He would say it anyways, in the end. After a long while, he added, whispering: “Don’t.”

The only sign of Regulus’ nervousness was the distinctive way his lip got caught between his canines. “You make it sound, like this is a choice.” He closed the steps between them, longing to touch, but didn’t. “I will have to, sooner or later. To protect you, if nothing else.” Tristan knew, there was much else. _A lot_ else.

He still answered: “You can’t protect me. Not really. I doubt, anyone can. I doubt, anyone is safe, too.”

“I can try!” Regulus growled frustrated. Probably, he believed that. And probably he also believed it was the main reason. And that he had to. He wouldn’t listen.

Tristan looked to the ground and remained silent. He could think of nothing to sway him.

Finally, reluctantly whispering, Regulus asked: “Will you leave me, if I do?”

Tristan shook his head, bare of any hope. “I can’t.” He leaned forward put his arm around Regulus waist, holding on, until, reluctantly, the other’s arms wrapped around him. They remained like that for an eternity.


	21. Matters of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Tristan and Regulus are forced into new revelations about their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you like the chapter, I am rather proud of it. I really, really like the Marauders.

‘Don’t take the train…’ Tristan remembered, as he bid his farewell to Regulus and headed back to the castle. He had put up the brave face, but he felt much less than that. He didn’t want Regulus to know about it, but the mere thought to stay there without him, left Tristan seriously worried. There was just no safe place then. He couldn’t go to Ravenclaw, it wasn’t his home anymore. And he couldn’t go to Slytherin either. He knew all the passwords, to the common room, to Regulus’ room, even to the prefect’s bathroom. But without Regulus he couldn’t even ward the door. He was fair game.

Just, when he was about to pass the wards though, he heard a low whistle. One look around, and he saw a man, he didn’t recognize for now, by the side of the path, guiding a big black dog that looked much more familiar. “Padfoot.”

Reluctantly he held his hand out for the big animal to sniff and felt almost shoved to the ground by the overwhelming affection, the dog showed him, chugging his big head right into Tristan’s chest. It left him somewhat puzzled. He had met Padfoot only twice and had no idea, why the beast liked him so much, all of a sudden. On the other hand: there was no better way to prove, whoever the man was, had the Marauder’s approval. Padfoot only ever came with… “Remus?”

The man nodded, smirking. “Go, get your trunk. I will apparate; Sirius is waiting with the bike near Hogsmeade.”

Tristan couldn’t help but smile, though he at least managed not to grin like an idiot. The easy friendship, he had formed with the two very different men over just the two months of summer, granted, months, their lives had depended on each other, felt like a warm summer rain, even in the cold December morning. Them, coming to get him, was a gift he hadn’t expected, but appreciated greatly.

Not quite running, he collected his things (not the whole trunk, obviously, he wouldn’t need that much), and got back outside, heading right for the small wizarding village. The man, or rather Remus in a glamor, now minus the dog, joined him, as he passed the boundaries of Hogwarts, staying at his side and watching out for him. He would have liked to hug him very much, but this was neither the time nor the place. They didn’t even talk. You never knew who was watching.

Only, when they passed the first houses, Remus stirred him into a back alley, warded with a privacy charm, where a big, black vehicle waited for him, and leaned against it in the most obnoxiously relaxed pose, Sirius, all roguishly handsome and recklessly confident.

He, in difference to Regulus, smiled freely at Tristan’s sight and hugged him, before the boy could even start to refuse. “You have grown” he announced and punched the small Malfoy’s arm none too gently. “And you look so grown-up. Or was it constipated? I never get that right.”

Even Remus snorted on that one. Within the minute, Tristan felt welcome, relaxed, free. All the constant tension fell from him like an overused coat, leaving nothing but the comfort of people, who cared for him without question. It was hard to admit it, but even though neither of them meant to him as much as Regulus, either of them could be trusted _more_ and would do whatever necessary to keep him safe.

In a way, that was comfortable too, because where would he be, if there was no strain of darkness in the light, no pain in all the joy? Not himself anymore, of that he was sure. Which led directly to the second hair in his soup. “Am I supposed to ride on this? Again?” He made sure to sound joking, although his last experience with Sirius’ machine out of hell had been less than pleasant.

Remus, now, in the safety of the charm, hugged him, too, looking him up and down and quietly acknowledging, how he had changed. “Looks like it. Neither of us can piggyback you apparating that far.”

“But have no worries” Sirius chimed in smugly. “You’ll eventually get the hang of it.”

\----

“Sit.” Arcturus gestured towards one of the big armchairs in his library.

Regulus obeyed without question, but managed to look both dignified and comfortable at the same time. His eyes never left the figure of his grandfather, standing by the fire and studying the flames, as if he wasn’t even there, knowing that despite the semblance of the opposite, he was under close observation. He remained silent and waited. Lord Black would speak, when he decided and not coaxed by a mere child, no matter how well-behaved.

He felt confirmed, when a barely visible smile played around the edges of his grandfather’s mouth, when he turned at last, looking at Regulus directly. “You have always lived up to my expectations, have you not?” It didn’t sound like praise, more like a challenge. Distant, and yet… fond.

Regulus nodded carefully, stating in clear, confident voice: “I have, Lord Black.”

The older man sat down beside him, nursing an expensive looking heavy glass in his perfectly manicured hands. “So, then you know, sometimes we have to bow, before we rule. So there is something to rule.” His eyes, darker than Regulus’ own, never left his face.

Regulus nodded, as he was expected to. “Yes, sir.”

Suddenly, Lord Black reached out, caught his forearm in his cruelly unyielding grip. “The fate of House Black rests on your shoulders.” For a strange moment, Regulus felt, as if it was was “Yours” as in plural, as if it included… Sirius. And in fact, despite being thrown out of the house by his parents, as far as the younger Black knew, his older brother hadn’t been disowned.

He couldn’t linger on the thought though. The unforgiving, analyzing stare of his grandfather allowed no slips. He turned his attention back to the present. “I will do my best.”

“That you will” the older man assured. “Bow to the Dark Lord now… But be prepared to rise above him.” Those were surprisingly open, surprisingly treacherous words. He all but stared in shock, hit again by the low chuckle, escaping Lord Black’s lips. “You are talented, Regulus. But you lack teaching. From now on, consider yourself my apprentice.”

Regulus dared not be proud. This changed everything. And nothing at all. He would never be left off the hook on less than perfection. And he would never be more in good graces. But maybe, just maybe… his grandfather would take him into trust. Just a little. And expect him to make use of it. He allowed himself a smirk.

\----

The Potter’s estate was both reminiscing and totally differing from Malfoy Manor. Both were, of course, old and impressive and in the best sense of the word noble. But that was, where the similarities ended. The Manor, although his childhood home, had always carried a note of sadness, as if the pain of realizing, he would never be enough for his father, of understanding, he had lost the love of his brother, had permanently stained the walls and left them contaminated.

Potter House instead looked regal. A little stiff, but squeaky clean. And silent. Malfoy Manor had always been filled with life, loud and at times disturbing, from allies, petitioners, house elves, servants. The Potters kept more to themselves. It wasn’t that they weren’t sociable. But due to their advanced years, both Fleamont and Euphemia preferred a quieter lifestyle, with only some trusted house elves around, to take care of their needs.

In a way, Tristan felt like an intruder, although both of James’ parents continuously assured him, they were exceptionally happy for the chance to get to know him better. And they tried. It was as endearing as it was annoying. They were so… light. So open, friendly, amiable.

They never just implied. They told him about their life, about their family, about their son. They made no secret of their connections to other families or their political opinions. They discussed the daily news like the weather. Without ever checking first, if it was… proper.

Tristan liked it. But it startled him every time. Sure, the Potters were well-connected; they need not fear any retaliation. In addition they played the political game well enough. They were respected, honored, and loved, where dark families preferred to be feared. It was just not, how he was taught to play. It felt incredibly unsafe, and it assured, he never completely relaxed in their company, for he felt, like he needed to protect _them_. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

It got better the moment, Lily invited him over. By now, she didn’t live far away, though much more secluded than her parents in law. James Potter collected him from his parents’ house and escorted him over, cracking one joke after the other along the way. He still wasn’t as close as Remus or Sirius, but the ice between them had definitely thawed.

When they were almost there, James stopped. “Tris… I know we didn’t start on the best foot. But… I heard from Moody, what you do. You can always come over, when the air gets too thin, ok?” Before Tristan could say anything to that, James had already opened the gate of the small estate and strode towards the door, giving not even a glance back to him.

Damn… It was a good thing, Regulus never asked about the holidays… Or politics for that matter. The thought alone, to decide, which ally to betray, which promise to break, which side to choose, left him dizzy. For Merlin’s sake, he couldn’t afford any more divided loyalties, any more secrets. But with the game, no the _war_ just really starting, there was no chance for that.

Tristan looked down on his hands, saw them shaking and still knew he had already made his decision. And Regulus made his. Which meant, he was truly, utterly, completely fucked. Swallowing the tears away, he followed James to the house and buried himself in the distraction, Lily’s friendly welcome and continued chatter offered, while watching silently, how his heart was slowly pulled apart.

\----

Echoes. Darkness. Pain. Oh, pain. Regulus knew a thing or two about pain. But this was… different. Somehow deeper. More personal. As if it wasn’t just pain, but a torture specifically meant, no invented, just for him. He pressed his right forearm more firmly against his body, clenching the fist, as he dreamt.

Tristan had warned him. Tristan had begged him. Tristan had all but thrown himself at his feet. He had made his decision anyways and wouldn’t know until much later, if he had been right. Or not. Regret though, was not connected to failure. It did not rely on being in the wrong. All he could think of, when he watched the mark, his strange moving non-movements and shifting coloring was the expression of Tristan’s eyes, when he told him: “Don’t.”

In the end, it really hadn’t been a choice. It was going through with it or die. It was standing up to his peers, fulfilling their expectations or be declared a coward, unworthy of their attention. It was doing, what Arcturus wanted him to do, or go, as Sirius had gone.

But who was he fooling. It was not an excuse, for before that, there had been plenty possibility to find another way, to get out, to… The truth was he had wanted it. Parts of him still did. It was easier. Maybe it was even right, though the complete certainty of before was gone. But another part fully realized, what the mark also meant. Torture, pain, enslavement. Not a pledge of loyalty, but an undignified occupation. There was no _trust_ in Voldemort. No responsibility for those pledging to him. Only greed and ambition.

Granted: there was nothing wrong with ambition, by itself. Regulus was Slytherin enough to believe that firmly. There was nothing wrong with power, either. And a little distrust didn’t hurt. But showing complete disregard for his subjects conviction, honor, whole way of life: that was unforgivable, more than any murder, any torture, any slip of etiquette.

Regulus didn’t know if others realized the same so soon after receiving their mark, if they kept face to stay in good graces or to lure others into the same position, so they didn’t lose leverage. He didn’t know if his position, his views complemented by Tristan’s enabled him to see more. All things considered, the most probable explanation was: no one is as blind as the man who doesn’t want to see.

As maybe had he. And now, there wasn’t a choice anymore. He had to play his part, sing his song. Until he found out, how to beat the whole theatre. And this would take nothing short of complete devastation. He would need his best cunning, his greatest powers. And help. He would need help. Grinding his teeth, he realized that despite Tristan’s reassurance there was no way to be sure, he would still be there, still be willing to be with him. Tristan was kind. But he wasn’t soft. His beliefs, his convictions were just as firm as Regulus’, he would rather die than betray himself. He would rather return to days of utter torture than risk his good conscience, knowing, he already lived on borrowed time. And that… even the slightest possibility to be forced to watch this unfold hurt more than the Mark ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided against writing a ceremony for taking the Dark Mark. It's been done often, rarely really good, and i feel like leaving it to imagination works better. Let me know, what you think.


	22. No other gift as valuable...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan spends Christmas with the Marauders and finds a way to repay their hospitality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little latin ahead, again: I checked with my husband who had it in school. Feel free to correct anyways, he won't mind and I am totally at loss.  
> Just mentioning: one more week until my new job starts, but I have a few chapters prepared, so prepare for less frequent updates but hopefully well within February.

Just like last year, they were all together on Christmas Eve. James and Lily, Remus and Sirius and Peter. And Tristan. Unlike last year, he actually felt comfortable around them all. He still felt dizzy sometimes, overwhelmed really, when things got too loud and too wild for him, but they knew. They looked out for him.

There was always a silent corner to wait out the moment, to relax again. There was Lily sitting beside him, singing one of those Muggle songs, she so liked, about snowflakes and candles and a “good Lord” coming. There was Remus, who always had a bit of chocolate with him and tempted Tristan with it, until the boy complained he was trying to fatten him like a Christmas goose. There was Sirius or James, doing something completely ridiculous that left everyone laughing. There was Peter, whose silent presence now was much less uncomfortable, maybe, because the war seemed to take of him as much toll as of Tristan.

And this year, he wasn’t just an annoying, uninvited addition, a disturbance. They wanted him here. After the summer, after everything that happened, he was… not quite one of them, but a friend. Close enough to buy him presents. Close enough to include him into their company. Close enough to break the news to him: that Lily and James would have a kid around next summer, probably about a month after solstice. He liked that very much. It was the one sliver of light in the darkness, perfectly fitting for Christmas, where candles and slivers of hope were, what he certainly needed, for it still hurt to be away from everyone he loved or had loved before.

This time though, he would stay overnight and this time, he wouldn’t be alone on Boxing Day either. Whatever kept them last year, wasn’t around anymore. He wouldn’t be alone, and that was best of all. He couldn’t have Regulus this year. It had been obvious, when they parted, but he wouldn’t be alone.

\----

Remus softly tugged Sirius shirt over his head, caressing the skin underneath with reverent care. But what left his fingertips tickling and would usually have resulted in first a little fight for fewer clothes, some kissing and maybe more, left the older Black brother unfazed now. He continued staring into the fire at the room, they “shared” when they were over at James’ house. He wasn’t insulted, though. It was the same every year. Both at the solstice and at Christmas, sadness got the better of his friend.

That was, when he missed Regulus most, and, though he would never admit it, maybe his parents too. Of course, Sirius played the role of the free spirit who simply didn’t care so perfectly, he even believed it himself, Remus knew better. It was a lonesome path, he had chosen, with only few to keep him company. It got easier over the years, but it would never be simple.

Therefore Remus felt fortunate, he could provide something to make him feel better, even if it was only skin contact, a hug, a kiss. The smallest of comforts could make all the difference. He had learned that the hard way, back at school. Without the help of James, Sirius and Peter, aka Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail, he would never had made it through school. And even then, it was a close thing, after the incident with Snape.

The Sirius of then had been careless, inconsiderate, wildly unpredictable. And for a time, their love had seemed lost. And then, he had changed. He had decided, he didn’t want to be that boy anymore. He didn’t want to do everything just out of fun and to spite his family. He had told it no one, not even Remus, but the werewolf knew anyways: he did it for him. Not for his forgiveness, for there was no way to predict, if he would gain it. Only for him.

After that, how could he not take him back? How could he not offer any comfort possible? How could he not dry off uncried tears that Sirius didn’t even believe existed? Ever since then they were one. And so, even if Sirius didn’t acknowledge him right now, his presence wasn’t in vain.

There was but one thing that irked him, once it came to his mind, for he couldn’t get rid of the thought anymore. Remus wasn’t the man to sooth one lonely soul’s injuries and completely ignore the other. He felt bad for even postponing it. But barging into the boy’s bedroom now wouldn’t do any good. It would have to wait until the time was right. And even then, he would need to see, if he had something the small Malfoy needed.

\----

Boxing Day. So many people and so many gifts. And in between Tristan, who hadn’t brought anything and felt mortified. The sad thing was… It wasn’t because he didn’t want to give them anything. It wasn’t even because he didn’t have the money – okay, he really hadn’t, but there was always a way. He just hadn’t known, he would see any of them… and sending an owl or such always seemed too risky. He still wished, he would have been swallowed by the earth, so he wouldn’t have to face his friends, wouldn’t have to accept their gifts and have nothing in return.

And James and Sirius joking that there would always be another Christmas, didn’t make it any better. Because maybe there wouldn’t. Not for all of them. Who could say, if they would all meet again next year? Or who would be missing?

It was Lily, who found the right words to finally put his mind at ease. Guiding him into the next room, she quietly explained: “Look, Tris. It’s been a hard year, but we are all still there and still alive, no small thanks to you. We want to share our happiness. And you are just the right person to be spoiled a little. Indulge us, will you?”

He could live with that. And there were enough presents for anyone, anyways, funny things, like the muggle joke toys, Lily handed out, something called a “Chinese finger trap”, but better named shameful torture device, or a little bird, dipping his head into water and raising it, without any magic involved. There were sweet things, like the framed photographs of their time together Peter had brought.

There were serious things, like the trap detection ring, Sirius had bought for James, or the book on wards, Remus got.

The most impressive thing for Tristan though, was, how insanely thoughtful the others were. A new robe, in Ravenclaw colours, for his started to look really worn, a Latin book on healing magic, not an original obviously, but a good copy and still miles better than the awful translation he had. A good preparation knife for potion ingredients, so he wouldn’t need to use the worn school instruments anymore. He thanked them all, and found them happy.

At last, when everything else was given to the recipient, a small package, wrapped amateurish in plain packing paper remained. They all eyed it with some suspicion, until Remus plucked up his courage and studied the label. “It’s for you, Tris. From Moody. It says here, it can only be opened in private.”

Uh oh. Suddenly, he remembered the cryptic letter back in Hogwarts and the queasy feeling, it had left him with. He took the package anyways, after James and Sirius had both checked it for curses, and excused himself to the room, where he slept. The others let him. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable…

Reluctantly he opened the package, not even ripping the paper and revealed a very old and worn looking tiny book. Over its cover, Moody had pinned a note in his truly atrocious handwriting, even more complicated by using Latin. “ _Noctem vera detegit_ ”

Ah good thing, that Latin was basic education in most pure-blood households. “The true night reveals…” he mumbled distractedly and removed the note, moving the little book this way and that way to study the surface and the even tinier lock placed on its front. “The true…”

A stream of profanities rushed through his mind. Did Moody know? And if so, how? And did this gift mean, he approved? Or… even encouraged? The true night. The darkness. This was a book of dark magic, opening only to those able and willing to perform it. In a rush of fear Tristan buried it deep in his bag, hiding it below clothing and school books. His hands shook and he questioned, if this was really from Moody. No… that didn’t make sense. It _was_ from Moody, no one else dared pose as him, if in his sane mind. But this meant Moody was even more ruthless and terrifying than the first impression implied…

And just maybe it was rubbing off on him, for he just couldn’t leave it there. It burned a hole in his pocket, his mind stayed focused on checking it out. And he would, soon as he went to bed…

\----

The light of a candle in complete darkness. The light of two eyes, willing to do what is necessary, willing to sacrifice, what is needed. Three cuts, three stabs, three burns. Blood on the ground, blood on the fabric symbolizing the child.

Of course, Tristan knew, the caster was not supposed to be the sacrifice at the same time. Of course he knew, he couldn’t say if it would work. And of very fucking course the consequences would probably bite him in the arse, as soon as he turned his back on them.

But there was one gift, he could give them. All of them. One gift, they would never know of, if everything went right, which made it all the better. Lily had a hard time ahead. There was no saying, if she would always have enough to eat, to drink, a safe place to sleep. If people would try to hurt her, or specifically the child, once her condition became obvious.

The ritual, if he could get it done right, would ensure it was born unharmed. Safe, healthy. He would bear the pains, so the little worm didn’t have to. While he cleared his mind, a soft smile spread over his face. No one could ever know. But Tristan wasn’t out for fame or riches anyways.

Sighing, he kneeled, lighting the white candle on the even whiter cloth and started, reciting the litany, performing the sacrifice, until heavy drops of his own blood dripped down his hand and onto the ground. It hurt, more than those injuries normally did, but it felt good at the same time. The magic came willingly, feasting on his offer, surrounding him, inscribing itself into his skin.

Three cuts, three stabs, three burns. Suffering and blood, willingly offered, for protection, for shelter. The breath shaky from both pain and elation, he blew out the candle, wrapped it into the no longer untouched fabric and prepared to bury both outside the wards, somewhere unseen. Every move of his mistreated left forearm hurt, but he didn’t even flinch.

Thanks to his father’s relentless quest to prepare him for torture, thanks to a childhood worthy of a pure-blood second son.

\-----

“Tris, are you…” Remus stopped, when he caught sight of what the boy was doing: carefully bandaging his arm, with fresh cloth, while a bloodstained one still lay by his side. “What the…” With a single movement he was at his side, wrapping his hand firmly around Tristan’s wrist and exposing the damaged skin. “What is this? Why haven’t you told? Shall I get you a salve?”

Very carefully the boy pulled away, studying his face very gravely. “You once offered me: show me yours, I show you mine. Does the offer stand?”

Remus nodded worriedly and stood up again to lock and ward the door, not for his secret, obviously, everyone here knew, but fair was fair. Then, he sat back. “I go first, if you want.” The boy relaxed visibly, and so Remus immediately came to the point. “I am a werewolf. A creature of darkness; I was bitten as a child.”

“The others know?” Tristan asked softly, and grinned on Remus nod. “I am stupid, am I? Should have figured it out myself.” But then he got more serious and added, before his courage could leave him: “I might have done something, you would consider even more stupid. And…” He eyed Remus. “Dangerous. I performed a rite for Lily’s child.”

Millions of thoughts at once raced through Remus’ mind, while he tried _not_ to ask the obvious, dumb questions. He could see, Tristan was upset, and the connection to an injury implied a certain kind of magic. Yet, at the same time he couldn’t imagine, why the small Malfoy would betray them. And he was confronted with enough prejudice of his own to know that appearances could be treacherous. Slowly, carefully neutral he finally asked: “Blood magic? What for?”

“Protection.” That was it. The boy wasn’t willing to offer any more, so Remus shrugged uneasily, before taking the bandages and wrapping them around the wounded arm and fixing them.

“When you feel the need to talk… I am here. And so are the others. They accepted me for what I am. Helped me…”

Tristan thanked him and added: “I know. That’s why I did it.” With that, he stood up and went for the door, indicating, the talk was over. Remus watched him go and pondered. He had the firm suspicion, Sirius would know more. His family had a hard earned reputation after all. If only he had an idea, how to ask without breaking the implicit agreement…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First dark ritual... Tristan, how naughty...   
> I hope, you enjoyed it, let me know, what you think.


	23. Of love and fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan come to terms with the changes of the holidays (and are on different sides of the first wizarding war for the first time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather like the changes between terms and holidays, that is now established, but let me know, if you think, it doesn't work or if you have ideas to make it better.

The injuries, although unhelped by potions or salves for obvious reasons, healed well enough and the discomfort they caused in the process somehow soothed Tristan, knowing, it was the price, the dark asked of him. Magic had no honor binding it to repay what was owed. But it had no treachery nor ambition either. His pain let him safely assume, James and Lily would have a healthy young child. He liked the thought and it helped him sleep, when other concerns threatened to keep him awake.

It worked. For a while. Then, every single fear was back. What if Regulus had taken the Dark Mark. What if one of his friends died? James or Peter? Or worse: Sirius or Remus? What if Lucius got hold of him? What if he was found out and expelled? What if over what if. Millions of small pains, of insignificant papercuts adding up to a hurricane of agony. He used to remind himself, he couldn’t safe everyone, he couldn’t take everyone’s worries, but that just wasn’t him. He never stopped halfway. But at least, after a year of continued reassurance, he was finally able not only to care, but also to find solutions, not only to feel, but to think.

And when he found at least one, one perfect solution, it hit him like a hammer. Already on the bike, safely tugged against Sirius’ body, ready to get shipped back to Hogwarts, he made him stop. “I have an idea.” And then, he told him of his inheritance at Godric’s Hollow, of the fact, that nobody, not even the Malfoy’s could track it back to him, or more so the Potters.

It would only take a little talk with the Lovegoods, and they wouldn’t deny him. Then, Lily and James and the kid would be safe. He even suggested a Fidelius, knowing, the Order would see him – of all people – as a risk. It would be the safe base they needed. It was perfect.

\---

The closer the train got to Hogwarts, the more a blanket of dread set down on Regulus. He wanted to be back to the usual. He wanted to wrap himself in the familiar presence that was Tristan. He wanted to feel loved. But at the same time, he was very aware, that Tristan was far too insightful to be fooled. It wouldn’t take him a second to figure Regulus out. He would know, and there was no saying, how he would react.

It was a far from unlikely possibility he would end it then and there. That there would be no comfortable silence, only disrupted by the familiar scribbling on parchment, no content sigh, in the darkness, no whiff of the scent of autumnal forest he came to associate with his smaller companion. In consequence Regulus both hoped for the end of the train ride and feared it, so he was fully out of his mind, when it finally arrived. Somehow it was a good thing that, even, when the train pulled into the stop, he could already see the smaller boy waiting for him.

At least they would get over with it soon. With undignified hurry he got ready, pulling his trunk out of the luggage rack and leaving the train. He looked around, orientating and there he was. The one constant in his life he actually wanted, needed. He bit his tongue, before a whispered “Tris” could escape and headed for him, nodding as a welcome.

Tristan nodded back and fell in a slow stride at his side, keeping just a little more distance than he would usually have, looking just a little more uneasy, being just a little more silent.

“Tris?” he asked, tentatively, when no one was near enough to hear, so he would get away with it.

The smaller boy shook his head slightly and went on in a nonverbal “not here.” Only, when they were back in the Slytherin dungeon and had retreated to their prefect room, he turned at last, facing Regulus directly and taking one deep breath. “I know.”

Of course he did; what else had Regulus expected. He felt uncharacteristically anxious, though it made him a little more hopeful, Tristan had followed him here, had actually waited, until they were alone, where he could not easily leave.

“Show me.” He didn’t even try to make it sound like a command, yet Regulus felt compelled to obey and opened his shirt sleeve at the wrist, folding it up in sparse movements. Tristan watched him intensely, barely even blinking; his body so tense, Regulus could literally see it. When the black stain on his otherwise still boyishly unblemished skin was fully visible, Tristan’s breath got troubled, close to panic, while he was pinned in place, not even trying to get closer, but somehow also prevented from fleeing. He pressed his eyes together in an acute expression of pain, opened them again and nodded then.

Regulus reached for him, hoping to give comfort, but Tris flinched, visibly flinched back. He hadn’t done that since… forever. Since the very first days of their relationship. Not even, when he was afraid to get hit. “Please…” Regulus pleaded tonelessly.

Tristan faltered, eying Regulus with something close to despair. “Could… you cover it…? For now?”

Regulus did it immediately and gladly, practically jumping forward to embrace him, as soon as it was done. He could feel Tristan shaking and had to scrap up quite a lot of courage, before he finally asked: “What is it, you feel?”

For a moment, he believed, Tristan wouldn’t answer at all, as he silently shook his head. And when he did, his voice was so weak, it hurt to listen. “It bleeds death. Devastation. Contempt. It screams of torture and hatred. It is everything I am not… And I am afraid to be consumed by its malignity.”

He had never heard it described as that, but it fitted. He also hadn’t realized, how sensitive Tristan actually was, how well-tuned to his very being. Still, even covered, the Mark made him move away, pushing himself further into Regulus’s left side, so he didn’t have to think of the… thing on his right arm.

Regulus sighed and buried his face in Tristan’s hair, before mumbling softly: “I am sorry. Please don’t leave.”

The smaller boy poked him slightly and grinned sadly. “I told you: I can’t.” With that, he settled at the bed, distracting himself with schoolwork and books. Regulus tried to leave him alone, but felt unerringly pulled back to his sad posture, whenever his constraint slipped. Frustrated with himself he went for a shower and for bed, but wouldn’t find sleep, until a smaller, warm body slipped against his left side and a head covered in impossibly soft, wild hair at last rested on his shoulder.

\---

It took days to get used to the… thing. He outright hated it and he had never hated before. Every time, he even thought of it, he wanted to flee. To put as much distance between him and that abomination as possible. Every time he felt its tug, however weak, he jerked away or twitched at least. It wasn’t really something alive. It couldn’t hurt him; it wouldn’t read his thoughts or something like that. But it made him immensely upset. And the defensive hurt, spreading across Regulus’ face, when he noticed, didn’t help either.

Tristan knew, Regulus tried not to be offended, but the longer this went on, the harder it would get for him. And he was far from prepared to get used to the off-putting sensation of touching it. Something needed to be done to prevent them from drifting apart, only because of that dreadful, evil thing. He wouldn’t let it destroy the one good thing he had left at this school.

So instead of giving in, continuing to avoid the awful thing, he decided to aim for confrontation. He couldn’t deal with its distractions and disturbances anymore so he wouldn’t.

Alone with Regulus after school, and definitely not on a day, he would be working in the Infirmary, he asked determinedly: “Could you reveal the damned thing?”

Regulus gave him a questioning “are you sure?”-look, but acted anyways, slowly unbuttoning his shirt sleeve and pulling it up. Again, the nasty picture of skull and snake moved under his skin as if it was alive; as if it prepared to strike out against Tristan. He stared at it, fixated it, full of concentration, his lips twitching from strain.

Very slowly, each step a deliberate decision to work against all his instincts, he stepped closer. His tongue and teeth were constantly abusing his bottom lip, yet he couldn’t give up now. It was good, that Regulus remained still, the heavy breathing aside, for it took all his strength, not to stop fighting, even without distractions. Closing his eyes to focus, he reached out, one hand slowly touching the symbol. He hissed on contact, as in pain, though the sensation was something completely different. Tempting, dark in a way, his magic was not, evil. It sucked all the warmth out of his body, offering the only comfort in the world, left him a shivering mess.

Breathing, he reached for the cutting knife at his belt with his free hand and brought it close. Stretching the thumb, he made a small, very precise incision, all the while whispering and slowly getting louder. “You have no power over me. I am not your servant; I am not your slave.” It helped with his breathing too, as he slowly covered the skin with his blood, in a thin layer. He wasn’t sure, if it would work, it was a far stretch from the ritual he had adjusted, but it was worth the try. Surprisingly, the power of the Mark over him ceased. It was still under Regulus’ skin, it was still alive and evil, but it couldn’t reach him anymore. Moving away, he finally and almost inaudibly added: “He is not yours. He is mine.” That, at last, made the beast strike, stabbing him with a lance incorporeal pain, but he was used to pain and had removed himself far enough from its influence, it couldn’t cause real damage.

Very deliberately he put his hand back over the bloodstained symbol, wrapping his hand around Regulus’ arm. Then, he kissed him. “I love you.” Regulus cupped the back of his head and held him in position, staring into his eyes caught between irritation and amusement. “Bloodmagic against the Dark Lord? Really?”

Tristan shrugged: “You use what you have. Slytherin mentality. Had no light rituals around.” At that, they both broke into liberated laughter. Not everything was fine. In fact, most things were not. But at least, Tristan could bear touching Regulus again. Which he did. The whole evening he ignored his homework and marveled in the possibility. Urging him to sit down, he climbed into his lap and started kissing him senseless. For starters.

\---

The longer Regulus dealt with Tristan, the less he felt in charge at times. The little one never came even close to questioning his authority or right to give the orders, yet could still make him loose his composure with as little as a single glance. When he ever tried to put real effort in it, he could get him wound up within seconds. Just that certain look, a single touch, the tickle of his breath, it was insane. Regulus had had lovers before, granted, girls, but he didn’t think that was the point. He had had his fun. This here was… different.

It was, as if Tristan’s touches resonated with him on a deeper level, catching his attention, pushing everything else into insignificance. He could resist of course. He just didn’t want to. It felt too good. So he didn’t.

On pure instinct he shoved Tristan back against the wall of his room. It felt good to have him completely trapped. And shielded. Regulus longed for the feeling of… well, not superiority, for despite the firm belief of the opposite, Tristan _was_ his equal. But of control. Pinning Tristan’s hands against the wall, conquering his lips and mouth and tongue, before heading for the jaw, the neck, the shoulder: that was a small piece of heaven. As were the sounds, he coaxed from his lover: small breathy sighs interlaced with the moaned resemblance of his name… Tristan was a grateful recipient of his attention.

And he couldn’t help but love him just a little more, when he leaned against him, rubbing the sides of his face against Regulus’ body just like a kitten, when he couldn’t use his hands. It was glorious.

Up to the point, where Tristan’s robes and shirt got in the way. Grumbling he moved back, his fingers flying over the clasps and buttons. The smaller boy in the meantime tried to catch his breath, while smiling almost reverently. Even after this time, he still couldn’t really believe, Regulus was just as occupied pleasing _him_ as hunting for his own satisfaction.

In hindsight, Regulus wanted to punish all his past “acquaintances” all over again. Especially the one, he still hadn’t been able to name, the one, Tristan refused to expose, still thinking, he did him some kind of favor, while in truth… No… not the right place, not the right time.

Regulus came back to the present, nipping at Tristan’s pale skin, thinking that while is wasn’t as unearthly as befitting a Malfoy, it still resembled milky white velvet, covered with a net of even whiter scars from past injuries. Regulus couldn’t get enough from that. He could _drown_ in that.

“Tris” he whispered urgently, wrapping himself around his lover. “You have no idea, how much I love you. How much I wish, you were mine.”

He could feel Tristan smirk against his skin, his small precise hands working between them to unclothe Regulus as well. “But I _am_ yours. And always will be. Even, when it’s time to part.” The sudden sting of sadness couldn’t cover the contentment he felt. Somehow even that was part of their perfect alliance. Knowing of its pains made it just more valuable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of rituals this is of course nothing. But I'd rather think in terms of psychology on this one ;)


	24. The seeds of betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The potential lines for the rupture of Regulus' and Tristan's friendship become obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in war mode by now. There will be more, but our heroes are not yet at the frontlines... I like the angsty stuff, and I think, it shows in this.

It had been nothing but whispers. A silent war, an unseen one. Light wizard all over the country had known, and had feared the moment, it came to their door. The influential ones had believed, they were safe, had believed, they could sway the tides, tame the storm.

This delusion was crushed now. Even the sacred 28 weren’t safe. Under the fading remnants of a Dark Mark on the sky, Iphigenia Fawley had been found, clearly tortured, then cut from life with what seemed to be the Killing Curse.

It was all over the papers and there was talk about it everywhere. Even in Hogwarts. Iphigenia’s daughter Jocasta, a proud Hufflepuff had broken down in the halls, after a ministerial clerk brought the news, and her peers had dragged her back to the safety of her dorm. No one knew, when or even if she would be back for classes. Her Ravenclaw brother Aeneas wore a frozen face through his, never asking or even accepting any comfort.

In turn, the hostility against Slytherin rose to a new height. Regulus knew for a fact, that his house was far from the only one to house those, marked by the Dark Lord and neither was every Slytherin (or even most) involved with him and his inner circle. There even were some openly opposing his positions. But that didn’t stop the scapegoating, blaming and harassment.

Within the day, the command was given out by the Slytherin prefects, that none of them would walk alone. The small first and second years were herded into groups and accompanied by prefects or older students, everyone above that was tasked to find partners on his own.

Regulus disregarded the order. He was more than capable of defending himself as a 6th year and a Black, no less. And in addition, his agreement with Tristan would have come to abrupt end, if he had to coordinate with another, potentially dangerous and nosy Slytherin.

This made for a strange irony. While on the one hand he was still Tristan’s protector and demonstrated clearly his commitment to defend him against any ill-will, now Tristan became his guardian too. As soon as he met with him, during or after classes, the attempts to curse or hex Regulus into oblivion well… not completely stopped, but became feeble and infrequent. Especially the lower years, who often needed his assistance in the infirmary had taken a liking to him and even let Regulus pass by on his behalf.

It was a strangely messed up situation. And he had never appreciated him more. If only their time-tables would have fitted better. But mostly he had to pass half the castle to just meet with him between classes. If he was out for herbology, Tristan had arithmancy in one of the castle wings, if he was down in the dungeons for potions, Tris was in one of the towers in the defense classroom.

Well, at least it was a good practice. If he could avoid being hexed all the time, it definitely helped his ability to watch his back around death eaters later on. He kind of… settled into the situation.

At least, until an angry red stunner buzzed at him, and Tristan stepped right in its way. Before he could even protest, his companion had already hit the floor, fully paralyzed. His eyes contracted angrily, as he met the shocked ones of the caster, a 7th year Ravenclaw and classmate to Aeneas Fawley. It was quite obvious, he was as surprised by Tristan’s reaction as Regulus himself, or else, he wouldn’t have been caught unaware. With a roar Regulus grabbed his own wand and flung an “Incarcerous” at him, proud, he still had the wits not to use something… darker.

He doubted, the teachers would do anything, but at least they’d now get the chance to disgrace themselves.

Then he turned his attention back to Tristan’s motionless body, disrupting the spell, while cursing about the boy’s stupidity. Or was it stubbornness? But Tristan only grinned relieved, when he came back to himself and argued: “You are better at dispelling. It was the logical choice. Besides…” His voice slurred a little in the aftereffects of the stunner. “You really think, they would spare you, if they didn’t know, I’d step in front of you?” Now the grin was cheeky and proud and all in all too endearing.

Regulus growled, helping Tristan to his feet. “This has to stop. You understand?”

The boy shrugged, his face now serious again. “No.” The whisper, though so soft, it was barely audible at all, transported all defiance necessary. “How can you expect anything less of me? I am yours. I promised.”

Regulus’ rage flared. “ _I_ promised _you_ protection. Not the other way around” he roared and pinned the smaller Malfoy against the wall. “This is my responsibility. You are supposed to…” His eyes bore into the silvery grey ones, sparkling with concern, he could just barely disguise as anger, while his words failed him. With another angry snort, he released him and stepped back, when footsteps approached.

It was McGonagall and she seemed as arrogantly angry as usual, when dealing with the likes of his house. She collected them all into her office, ready to rain her irritation down, preferably on the guilty party, or, if she wasn’t able to figure it out, on them all equally. Regulus didn’t intend to enlighten her. Neither did the Hufflepuff. The only thing, both of them agreed on, was that Tristan wasn’t in on it. He couldn’t afford detention, as everyone knew. He still got one, because he refused to explain the matter.

\----

Tristan incinerated or rather quite ordinarily burned the letter, as soon, as he had read through it, although it was obviously enchanted to show its contents only to him. It was still safer that way and he wouldn’t need a reminder on it anyways. There was too much emotion in it to forget. In fact, he was torn between happiness and concern, between anger about the general situation and relief, between pride, he was finally trusted and anxiety to carry another terribly dangerous secret, he had to keep, even from Regulus. Especially from Regulus, to be honest, now, that he knew for fact, that he was marked.

He doubted the younger Black brother would betray him, or Sirius, for that matter, to the Dark Lord and his followers on purpose. But the possibility was still very real. Maybe that was, why Regulus never even asked. So Tristan wouldn’t have to tell him. One final time he lingered on the letter, visualizing it once more.

_Dear Tristan (or serpent, I hope you are not insulted by this),_

_Your tip has been invaluable. We already applied it to good use. Thank you._

_It is time, to let you in on a few secrets, so we can communicate efficiently, if necessary. ‘The hunter’ trusts you enough for that, and so does the mentor (you will find out, which). You already know about Moony, as he told me. I was asked to cite: “Show me yours, I show you mine” (whatever that means to you). Us others are in it too… Me (that’s Padfoot, if you catch my meaning), Prongs and Wormtail. Figure it out, you are clever._

_When something serious comes up (haha), the teacher will contact you. I hope, we don’t interrupt something important, but truth be told: we need you. It’s getting hard to do without someone of your occupation, especially with the dinner host’s bun in the oven._

_Talk to no one you aren’t absolutely sure of, we don’t want you to come to harm on our behalf._

_The others sent their regards._

_Padfoot_

Then, though reluctantly, he pushed the image from his mind. That was hard. Knowing, they were alive, knowing, they wanted his help, knowing, he could do something, felt reassuring. But he couldn’t afford to slip. It was a good thing, he was not only pure-blood trained but also as close to Slytherin as it could get. In hindsight, even opposing being sorted there had been quite a Slytherin move, as he fit right in to the point, that no one gave a second glance anymore. Or tried to mess with him. He kept secrets. Always. Now, he would keep this.

\----

For weeks after the start of the new term and the incident with the Dark Mark everything had seemed fine. Okay, apart from the ebbing, but still quite perceptible hostility towards Slytherin, and apart from the workload both he and Tristan faced, and apart from the slight reluctance he still felt in his companion, before he came into his embrace willingly, and maybe apart from the concerns about death eaters at school and about what the Dark Lord would expect from him, and…

Okay. In truth nothing really had been fine. But at least the complicated relationship between him and the still shy Ravenclaw had seemed back on track. He let himself touch willingly, sometimes even initiated something; he slept in Regulus’ arms, eagerly pressed against him; he showed neither fear nor irritation. And yet.

It took Regulus a few nights to notice it. Tristan had always been a light sleeper and silent, even during bad dreams. But even he, who usually slept much better, eventually realized a certain lack of warmth in the early hours of the morning and the fact, that the person that used to be fuzzy and nonverbal in the morning now was wide awake, when he stood up. And neither did it escape his attention that the tiredness already deeply ingrained in Tristan’s face grew more distinct with every day passing. If he didn’t set an end to that, sooner or later even pure-blood stubbornness and necessity-born stamina would at last give out and lead to the inevitably fatal crash.

He cornered him in the evening, just when Tristan was back from the shower and not quite in bed yet. It was probably the weakest moment of the day; he might actually get some answers. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Tristan shrugged, dismissing the implied questions. “I try.”

Regulus looked him up and down and sighed: “I would tell you to try harder, if I actually thought, it would make a difference.” His hand all the while started slowly wandering up and down Tristan’s side soothingly. He didn’t know, why, he just felt like it. “Tell me, what is up.”

“It’s just…” As always, when things got complicated, Tristan’s voice dropped to a mere whisper, while he tried very hard not to fall into old habits and study the floor. “I start thinking, what if… something happens. To Lily and James. Or Remus. Or Sirius.” With each name, the frown in his face deepened. “What, if they get me. Or you.”

Regulus tried to calm him: “You are not actually in danger, you know? Lucius and maybe your father aside, no death eater cares anything about you. And me… well, I am fine, ain’t I?”

Tristan shook his head. “I doubt, they believe, you are very loyal. And rumor has it people have been killed for less than associating with someone like me.”

“Like you?” Regulus poked his side jokingly, but ceased it, when he noticed Tristan’s look. Confusion built in his stomach. “What do you mean… like you?”

Tristan removed himself from the close proximity and slipped into bed, holding the blanket between them like a shield. “You have secrets, I have secrets. Don’t ask. Don’t force me to choose between my loyalty to you and my…” He stopped, unable to find a phrasing that was neither incriminating nor otherwise dangerous.

Regulus watched him in continued bewilderment that slowly gave way to horror. “What did you do?”

Tristan shrunk under his gaze. “I guess I put a target on my back. And I can’t tell you more. Not anymore. Not… ever.” Regulus read all the signs he needed him close, right now. But at the same time, he also felt his rejection. Unsure, how to proceed, he stood there, waiting for an idea.

In the end it was Tristan, who got back up and slowly, but with determination, pulled him into bed. “It will be alright” he soothed, which, the situation considered, was the even worse.

Regulus growled discontentedly and pulled Tristan close, burying his face in the soft brown locks. “I would never betray your secrets.” Then he bowed down, savoring the scent of his lover, warm and familiar.

Tristan leaned into him, his own hands softly brushing over Regulus’ ribs. “I know… but it’s enough, when I break, every day a little. I don’t want that for you.”

With a sudden jerk, Regulus threw him down, pinning him against the mattress, his eyes wide with the shock of revelation. He thought he knew Tristan. He thought he had an idea, what went through his head. He thought it was all about him and his unfortunate association. Now, all of a sudden, he understood that there was more than that. He should have realized earlier in this talk. He should have… said something, done something, before it even developed that far. He should have kept Tristan out of the way.

Not for the first time, he cursed the fact, that albeit appearing weak, his lover was anything but that, and would stand up for his beliefs, disregarding the personal price he paid entirely. On the other hand, maybe this was what had drawn him in in the first place. The understanding that Tris kept things to himself, that he never asked for help, when he had the chance to do without, that he’d rather suffer or even die than let it happen to others.

He clenched his jaw and grinded out: “ _I_ want that. We stand together or we break together.”

Tristan sighed. “You can’t. Not since that.” He gestured sadly for the right forearm and ran his fingertips over Regulus’ face to lessen the blow. “Those are not truly _my_ secrets.” Pushing himself up, he kissed Regulus and pulled him down with him. “I promise you to be careful though.”

That wasn’t much of a consolation. “I’m losing you…” he whispered, in between the kisses, and again. “I’m losing you.” It made him only dive deeper into the moments he had. Into Tristan’s lips and mouth and hair and smell.

“Not yet.” Tristan laughed sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will come back to this, I fear... Several times.  
> And: I proudly announce, today I reached 200k words posted at the Archive. YAY!


	25. Things to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan faces consequences of his decisions on several different occasions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is not much happening in the normal sense in this chapter, but I like it very much for it's nice lurking darkness ;)

Tristan should have been aware, that Slughorn wouldn’t take no for an answer, especially not a no by omission. Simply not reacting at all after their talk about the analysis of his magical core, had only resulted in the old man going forward and organizing… everything, presenting Tristan the accomplished facts. At least, he had bothered to get someone not involved in St. Mungo’s, which, being the most common place to go for any wizard with medical or medimagical problems, happened to also be one big information leak. The school of course used it, it was reliable and cheap, but most pure-blood families settled for more private and frankly secretive options.

So did, to his honor, Slughorn. The analyst he had brought into play came from “Avicen and Ascolip”, partnership of the most renowned pure-blood healer partnership, so exclusive, that they didn’t reside in London like everyone else but in Oxford, close to the old Muggle University.

Hi introduced himself as Avicen himself, but if that was true, he would have been the descendant of a descendant of a descendant. The business was _old_. Still, he carried the air of self-confidence and absolute reliability. His hands, his face, his voice, everything radiated pure-blood composure and discreetness, as he nodded to Slughorn and asked him very politely to leave, before turning his attention to Tristan. “Greetings, Mr. Malfoy. I assume, you were informed, why I am here?”

Hesitantly the young Ravenclaw leaned against the side of a chair, without actually sitting down, while he evaluated the man before him further, not even attempting to hide it. “My magical core.”

The man shrugged out of his coat and robe. Below it lay an oriental looking tunic of considerable quality and price, which didn’t escape Tristan’s attention. “I assure you, this is not, what mindhealer tend to do. I will not be able to see your thoughts, memories, or even emotions. I will however be able to detect, what magic you have used, use by now and will be able to use in future. As well as any magical bonds rooted to you.”

Tristan nodded slowly. “I, on the other hand assume your complete confidentiality?”

Instead of answering immediately the man gestured to the comfortable chair prepared for this occasion. “If you’d please prepare yourself? I am well aware of my responsibilities.”

Tristan sat down and before he could do anything else, he felt like falling backwards, slowly but steady, deeper and deeper in something like an endless pit. It wasn’t even terrifying, only strange, as if he was being distracted from something important, yet he couldn’t focus, he couldn’t put the finger on it…

He couldn’t say, for how long it went on, until his back hit the back of the chair with a reassuring jerk. It could have been only seconds, for surely he hadn’t been suspended in midair, had he? It felt like hours though.

Warily he looked into the face of the healer, only to jerk back in sudden fear. While the face of the man had remained neutral and composed, his eyes now were pools of pure, unadulterated greed. He didn’t even try to hide it. No one had ever looked had him like that, not even when they… did things to him, and it scared him to the core. “I don’t think, this will… work” he all but breathed and tried to get up, while avoiding to get any closer to the man.

“It already has…” was the disturbingly amused answer, while the eyes remained solely focused on him, like he was some prize to be seized. “It already has, Mr. Malfoy.” The voice made his flesh break goosebumps with its overly content relaxation. “Prepare to hear from us…”

Without another word he turned, leaving Tristan alone and shaken. With sudden revelation he remembered, that “Avicen and Ascolip” were rumored to be… dark. Very dark indeed.

\----

He had not yet fully closed the door, when Tris already was in his arms, scared to the point of panic. It was a wonder, he had been able to hold on long enough to get to the privacy of their room. Regulus didn’t start asking questions, when he full well knew, Tristan wouldn’t answer just now. Instead, he tugged him under his arms, rested his forehead against his chest and caressed his back, until the smaller boy’s breathing calmed.

But even then Tris could not really explain, what it was, that left him scared out of his wits. Nothing _relevant_ had really happened. At least, that was, what he claimed, leaving Regulus at loss once more. The longer this term went on, the more the older boy got the feeling that one of them was slowly losing his mind. Or both. He suspected, it was him.

Old certainties had faltered and everywhere on his well-learned beliefs, the paint was flaking off. And the one thing that actually gave him stability was constantly pulled away from him. Tristan’s presence, Tristan’s _love_.

Slowly, he bowed down, catching the smaller boy’s lips and hands, and pulled him on his lap, until they sat in a chair, coiled into each other. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won’t laugh. How could I laugh, when it clearly upsets you.”

His reassurances finally brought some clarity, although the whole process didn’t make much sense even then. Why would a dark healer come to Hogwarts in the first place? What did Slughorn tell him to lure him here? His likes would normally make the conditions, not obey to them. And what had he found that sparked his interest so thoroughly? Why didn’t he even attempt to hide it? Sacrifice? No, that couldn’t be it. No single spell would leave a fallout worth the effort… Even the strongest, he knew (and being a Black he knew of quite a few) didn’t require more than general features in the necessary sacrificial lamb. It could be an animal, a muggle, a squib, even a wizard or witch, but there was nothing, nothing about their magical core. So what else? What had the dark healer found, what had he seen?

“We need to repeat the thing. You and I. We need to find out.”

Tristan nodded reluctantly. “I think, they will come to get me.” He swallowed on tears and fear and the lingering shadow of some indescribable doom, and couldn’t even name who “they” would be. For Voldemort or death eaters were clearly not it.

“I will not let them. You are mine” he whispered, unsure. And then… a thought bloomed in his mind. If only he could bring his grandfather Arcturus on his side…

\----

“Really, you should stop it.” Tristan stabbed a finger jokingly towards the smaller Ravenclaw’s side. There was little joking in his words though. “You are Ravenclaw. Stop following prejudice. Think for yourself.”

The little one frowned. “Will I get that speech with every Quidditch injury I get?”

Tristan shrugged happily and nodded. “Gives you two choices: change your attitude on Slytherin or don’t get hurt anymore.” Despite the friendly tone and attitude, in principle the topic was grave. Especially the smaller Slytherins still suffered greatly from the common misconception, that all of them were collaborators of murderers and death eaters. Slytherin made more than half of his Infirmary duty and they were far from the most numerous house.

So he tried his best to safe what reputation they had left and get it into the heads of the kids, he treated, that they, too, were only children and deserved to be treated with respect. It didn’t always work. Sometimes it extended the hostility towards him. There were certain Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, who would gladly hex him in the corridors, given the opportunity. But in general, it went well. The little ones listened to him. Maybe, because he _was_ no Slytherin. Maybe, because he always treated them with respect and care. Maybe, because he was only a few years older than them and didn’t act all grown-up around them.

Or maybe the teachers just didn’t care. Didn’t see, didn’t listen, didn’t whatever they were supposed to do. It frustrated him to no end. It wasn’t about him anymore. He had figured it out. He was safe. But there would be others. Small, helpless, forgotten. Better to teach the students some respect for each other, for relying on the teachers still clearly didn’t work.

Just then, with the youngest addition to Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team jumping from the Infirmary bed with his rehealed knees and fixed arm, he noticed two more students coming in, looking at him strangely. They were Ravenclaws too; maybe this was his meet-my-own-house day? “What do you want? Are you hurt or hexed? Madam Pomphrey is in her office, if you want to have her instead, but I warn you, she is stressed out.”

It was almost pitch-perfect the usual speech, he gave these days. He could handle almost everything on his own. Healing spells never failed him. But they looked only slightly disconcerted and continued to watch him, until one of them finally managed: “The headmaster sent us. You requests that you come to his office immediately.”

Tristan looked at them alarmed. “Did he say what this was about?” In unison they shook their head and left him to his thoughts, obviously relieved, the matter was off their hands.

\----

The big gargoyle guarding the entrance to the staircase from the upper floors to the headmaster’s office, stared coldly down on Tristan, but gave way easily, when he announced the headmaster waited for him. Giving himself the time to regain some focus, he went up the stairs slowly, arriving at the door the perfect depiction of pure-blood composure. “God day, Headmaster.”

“Ah, Tristan, my boy…” the barmy fool started. Tristan hated this kind of endearment and let it roll off his icy politeness.

He nodded slowly and asked, still carefully distanced from Dumbledore’s familiarity: “What is it, you want from me, Sir?” Seeing the old man in action made it hard, not to show more of his contempt towards his overeager affection-seeking. He settled for a façade of worry to hide more disdainful feelings behind. “I am unaware of any misdeeds of mine.”

The headmaster waved this remark off and answered with a good-natured smile: “Oh, nothing to be concerned about. I was merely informed, you were needed. Are you able to apparate?”

Tristan frowned, shaking his head full of distrust. “I have neither the ability nor the permission.” Nor was it bloody likely, he would ever get it, Sirius had tried really hard to teach him.

“Well it wasn’t expected, at your age. So I had a portkey prepared.”

Another stab of suspicion kept Tristan on the edge. “Where to?”

Looking content and just like the kind grandfather he so gladly embodied most of the time, Dumbledore spread his arms. “Ah, and here I thought I had earned a little bit of your trust…”

The thinning of Tristan’s lips was all the answer he got to that statement. “I’d rather not be sent back to Malfoy Manor, while I still have an education to attend.” Not that he would need it anymore, if his father got hold of him.

Did the old wizard really look hurt by that? He certainly deserved no better. “I assure you, this is not it. You are completely safe. Now, if you would…” He gestured for a small stone figurine of the Slytherin serpent, appropriately positioned on his desk. “It activates on touch and brings you back here in due time.”

Oh, Padfoot, if this was the “mentor” the finding out was really a pain in the… backside. Dealing with the headmaster on regular base was nothing to look forward too. Hesitantly he sighed and reached for the figurine.

\----

“Remus?” Merlin, he should have checked the moon. Something bad had happened last night. Not even Sirius knew exactly. It seemed, he had fled from them and gotten into a fight with another werewolf and had crawled back into safety that morning, limping and bleeding. They had tried to deal with it themselves. They hadn’t even considered St. Mungo. Remus condition was known enough as it was. There was no need for a public announcement.

So they had asked Tristan. And he had come. And now, he was kneeling beside the low bed, checking the body thoroughly to stop all the inner bleeding. And he felt so tired, but he couldn’t let go just yet. Remus was his friend. Someone he trusted. Someone he wouldn’t want to disappoint, no matter, how tired he felt, no matter, how depleted his magic was by now. “What have you gotten yourself into?” he mumbled, barely coherent, as he finished his last diagnostic spell and continued with one for healing deep-seated injury.

When he rose, thoroughly exhausted, he felt himself swaying, Strong hands caught him, pulled him into a supportive hold. “Come, little one, you need a bed.” James… probably.

He objected, slurring slightly. “No… I need to go back… Regulus will worry.”

The sudden silence caught his attention, woke him up some. “What? We are friends…?”

Another voice, other hands. Sirius. Surely. “Come on, I bring you.” Something was going on above his head, slipping by his attention. Some merely mouthed words, some silent gestures. He honestly couldn’t care. Then Sirius guided him out of the room and asked, softly: “How is he? Regulus.”

“’s fine. We don’t talk about… this though… in case, you are worried.”

Sirius settled his head against his stronger, more muscled shoulder. “I’m not. But the others… might. Be careful.”

Tristan’ had difficulties following, in fact difficulties, keeping his eyes open. “I need to go…”

Sirius nodded, stroked his hair lightly and handed him the portkey. “I would go with you, but I guess, it’s better, you find your way home alone.”

That was certainly true. A mere quarter of an hour later he finally, thankfully sank into bed, curled into the warmth of his lover.


	26. The finiteness of futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is seriously depressed, I mean: seriously. The circumstances don't help either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger-Warning for depression.   
> But a lot of fluff.  
> And a hint of smut, if you squint right. ;)

Another letter, this time with a little package attached. It would have been nice, if it hadn’t been so hard to hide it from Regulus. Clearly not even Sirius had realized, how close they really were, maybe for the better, for his double role as Regulus’ lover and healer for the Order wasn’t exactly an easy one, even without additional questions and suspicions from either side. So he just stuffed the letter and package into his satchel, when he was shielded from view by some excited second years, ready to read it later. Then he headed over to the Slytherin table, where Regulus was just standing up.

After more than a year doing this, they had a certain routine that worked for both of them. They knew, when the other was finished, if it was a shower or lunch of whatever else. Ever since he lived this double life though, it felt strange, how they could be so perfectly in tune in everything. Everything but the things, that mattered.

It wasn’t only the Mark. Okay… it was the Mark, too. But it was more. Tristan lived pure-blood. Elegance, icy cold composure, clear thinking and strength in the face of threats. He had no doubt, his heritage and upbringing gave him certain traits, muggleborns or even most half-bloods would never master. They were not necessarily superior, but they were… wizardlike. Proper.

For Regulus being a pure-blood was religion. Everything else was below him, every misstep blasphemy, every muggleborn barely above a creature. He acknowledged their sentience, maybe even their abilities, but he didn’t respect them in any way. And even though the cracks in his world view were clearly visible, he refused to see them, understand them. Maybe he just flinched away from the pain of re-evaluating everything he was ever taught. Maybe in his heart he needed to believe it, so he could feel at least somewhat justified in comparison with Sirius who had bested him nearly everywhere else. Maybe, he was just pretending harder than Tristan.

However, that was just the start. After pure-blood politics, there was the rift between light and dark magic. Tristan longed for understanding, willed himself to sacrifice for deeper knowledge, refused to loose himself in its temptations. Regulus just saw power and took it.

Then there was, what they hoped of the future… Tristan really didn’t have any. He lived on by-day-basis, knowing, he was already dead, only to cunning and to clever to fall to the ground just yet. Regulus still believed, there was a way. That they would come out of this whole mess unscathed.

And yet… wasn’t Regulus the insightful, the enlightened one? The person, understanding politics and people and everything on instinct, while Tristan struggled with such basic questions as: do I like him? Didn’t he talk the talk and dance the dance with such mastery, that even other pure-bloods paled in comparison?

Sirius hadn’t bothered. He didn’t need to. He was handsome and stunning and all in all charismatic. A born leader. A born Gryffindor. Regulus had, and found his own way into… well, not everyone’s heart but definitely into their heads. And Tristan just stumbled along, capable of neither.

Still daydreaming, he arrived at class and managed not to look too pre-occupied when he gave his companion a last wave. Then he scampered into class, hiding in the last bench as usual and unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Serpent,_

_Moony is better, thanks to you. I have a real bad conscience putting this onto your shoulders, but we have little choice. Some things just can’t go to St. Mungo’s. I console myself with the thought, you inspire us to be more careful and get hurt less. I added a little gift of thanks in hopes, you like it. The host made them extra for you. Sleep some, ok?_

_Hugs,_

_Padfoot_

With anticipation he eyed the package. But there was no way, he would open it now and risk losing Lily’s wonderful cookies to a nosy teacher. He would have shared them with Regulus though, if he had had any idea to explain, where he got them.

\----

“You are falling behind on your homework.” Regulus watched the stack of assigned tasks from classes that seemed to grow a little with every day, overwhelming Tristan every day a little more. Regulus remembered last year, when he struggled to make at least a little space in his life, fully submerged into OWL homework and OWL preparation and OWL everything. When walking Tris to and from class was a real sacrifice of time, something that hurt. He startled.

There was so much going on in Tristan’s life. No wonder, he was failing to keep this pace. Even without the still frequent nightmares he looked worn and tired and nervous. But failing the OWLs was unthinkable. No matter how little Lord Malfoy cared about his younger son anymore: this would force him into action.

So other measures had to be taken. Yet, Tristan seemed strangely unfazed. “I will manage. If you want, I can ask for some free days in the Infirmary, to get them back on track.”

That wouldn’t suffice. At all. It would merely shove the problem back for some time, but not solve it. And leave Tristan no less tired out, on the long run. But on the other hand… could he expect the little one to give up on his work? To go back to be solely dependent on someone else’ charity? Probably not. Still it might be helpful to actually speak with Madam Pomphrey and look at her view on the things. And perhaps also with Slughorn. Again. Not that he wanted to.

“Are you ok? You seem… off?” Tristan suddenly interrupted his train of thought, before sporting his most innocent smile and adding: “You could help me, though.”

With that smile, Tristan was up to something. Regulus had an idea, so he played along. “How so?”

The smile dissolved into a lascivious grin, indicating, that his assumption might have been absolutely right. “You could help me relax?” Tristan whispered, pulling off the probably most embarrassing attempt to get laid.

Regulus couldn’t help it though… He wanted it too. His own grin widened. “How so?”

Tristan’s hand was on his shoulder, pulling him down, just a bit, and into a still so innocent kiss. It was a devious divisionary tactic, he knew; Tristan didn’t want to talk and didn’t want him to think about it. If only it didn’t work so well. Those soft lips on his, closed, yet begging to be parted, always sent shivers along his spine.

“You are an evil creature, tempting me to ignore my responsibilities” he mumbled, already captured.

Tristan laughed soundlessly. “You worry too much. My mains are up to date. And I will drop whatever I can anyways, next year.”

For a moment, Regulus came back to senses. “Yeah? Like what? Arithmancy? Old runes? You need those. And you can’t drop Charms, Transfiguration or Defense.”

Tristan sighed, placing another kiss on Regulus’ collarbone. “There is no helping you. I already have an agreement with Madam Pomphrey for the last month before the exams. No infirmary duty, emergencies aside.” With that, he started to do his best on diving into Regulus’ robes with his lips, running the tongue along its hem.

Regulus sucked in his breath and grumbled altogether too contently. It was hard to deny himself the pleasure of this. Tris knew him just too well.

\----

The days getting longer meant less time unseen. It meant he had to be more careful, when he slipped into the headmaster’s corridor, whispering the password to the gargoyle. It also meant there were more chances for his friends out there to get hurt. Better weather certainly meant more fights. And it meant his own grades faded further into the background of secondary things.

It was strange… for everyone else everything seemed to depend on those grades. Were they good enough for their future jobs? Would they suffice to get the NEWT courses they needed? Yet, he just couldn’t be bothered to care. He had never had any illusions for his academic career, with all the restrictions to his ability. And now, he wasn’t even sure, he would ever even try. Maybe it was easier to go full time healer for the Order than to return to Hogwarts after the summer, which in turn would dissolve any fears of his father withdrawing the money for school.

Of course, with what little formal education he had on the field, being taught in between normal lessons and emergencies or reading for himself, there would be no real _after_ the war, even when the evil bastard actually lost. He wouldn’t be able to work in the field. But frankly… would he get the chance anyways? There were too many maybes to rest his decision on that. Maybe You-know-who lost. Maybe he wasn’t caught before that and tortured and killed like so many others. Maybe his family backed off. Maybe Lucius forgot his name, his face, his very existence.

By now, he wasn’t studying determinedly anymore, he was calculating, with what he could get away. A sloppy homework for Charms? No problem, Flitwick would let him, knowing, the exam would break his back anyways? An ill-prepared potion? Better not.

The thing though was… he couldn’t tell Regulus. He wouldn’t understand. He would argue, again, that there was nothing to fear, that he had everything under control. He would say, again, that Tristan could rely on him. Tristan’s fatalistic world view didn’t go well with him. They would argue, they would fight, then they would kiss, again, and settle for something, not quite sex in Tristan’s opinion, but still better than any past experience he ever had. He only wished Regulus was up for more. The mere thought, what it would feel like, left him dizzy, needy and aroused. Feeling everything. Giving everything. Sacrificing everything. And be rewarded with a unity, he only could extrapolate from what they had now, and what felt so right already.

Instead he made another half-hearted attempt to distract himself from all the worries in his life with something as simple as Arithmancy homework. Funny how perspective slipped, once real life interfered with the oh so important school life. Arithmancy was certainly easier than checking Remus for inner bleeding. Or telling Lily, everything would be alright, when James just wouldn’t wake up (he eventually did). Or, before everything else, stop thinking about the risks, his friends were taking. He knew little of the rest of the order, but the Marauders… they were, what now most resembled family. The thought of losing them… shattered his heart to pieces.

\----

Professor Slughorn paced his study in never-ending circles. He had thought, it was the sensible thing to do to let a business as old and renowed as Avicen and Ascolip have examine his very uniquely talented student. They were after all known for their confidentiality. He had however not assumed, said confidentiality would include the person paying for the whole service in the first place.

Granted, it had not been money, the healer had received. Slughorn had rather called in an old favor, he still strongly regretted by now. But he had still expected to at least be informed about the results of the examination. Instead, the healer had merely told him, he had been successful and had worked out, what was wrong with the boy and left.

The way he had said “what is wrong” had implied everything but, yet no more information had been given. And now a certain letter with the crest of the very respectable business rested on his desk, written in old and very respectable script, using legal and very respectable language, littered with Latin and technical terms. And Horace Slughorn was at loss, what to actually do. On the one hand, it was his duty as a teacher to make sure, the boy continued his education, especially since it was far from certain, what they wanted of him. On the other hand though, it would be so much easier to give in. To forget the darker part of the reputation, they carried, for they would not rest, until they got, what they wanted and would apply any necessary pressure to crack first his and then the boy’s resolve.

For what they wanted, was Tristan. And in the long run they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Tristan's world view is somewhat depressing, ok, more like full blown hard core mental problem, but really, what has he to look forward to, right now? I promise, he will get better...


	27. Ring, oh, ring of rosies...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets solid proof on Tristan's activities and confronts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have by now 3 more chapters ahead. But I start working on monday, so... I give my best to keep a decent posting schedule from then.

It was a beautiful may, and everyone, even when learning and revising, was outside. But no matter how nice the sun shone, it only helped further underlining Regulus’ dark mood. To say, he was grumpy, would have been an understatement, especially since it didn’t seem to resonate with Tristan’s behavior. In his opinion, the smaller boy was far from prepared for the OWL-exams, which wouldn’t be taken by the teachers (who might take the situation into account) but by external ministry clerks.

He should have… granted, he _was_ working. But he seemed preoccupied, unfocused, simply not up to the task most of the time. That just wouldn’t do in Regulus’ opinion. He should have made the most of a month without Infirmary duties, instead he eyed the place with longing, whenever they passed it.

He should have… well… in truth, the worst of it all was that Regulus could understand him. It was hard work and in Tristan’s case with little chance for a full success. Pushing him into it, denying him the break, he needed (and everyone could see, he did) seemed cruel. But it was Regulus’ task to make sure, he performed at his best, and so he pressured him into learning anyways. No matter, how little he wanted that.

He sat with him all afternoon, making sure, he did his preparation on Charms, while Regulus himself revised on Transfiguration. He would have counted it as a good day, hadn’t he noticed, how slowly the pages in Tristan’s book were turned. His lover was thinking about everything but Charms. It was infuriating.

He decided to have a serious talk with him after dinner, but, just when he was about to collect him from his table, another student stepped up to him and made Tristan throw his fork and knife down onto the plate and stand up in a hurry. He had one nervous and somewhat guilty look towards the Slytherin table and Regulus, then disappeared from the Great Hall.

Regulus frowned, but stayed. For quite a while. Tris didn’t come back. He wasn’t in the Slytherin rooms either. And he didn’t reappear. It was almost curfew by now and he still wasn’t back. What in all heavens could be so important, especially, when he had promised, he’d only go to the Infirmary, if it was absolutely necessary? A major accident or something similar would by now be talk all over the halls, wouldn’t it?

Frustrated Regulus decided, if Tristan wasn’t up to the scolding he certainly deserved, he would go and bring it to him. Almost unseen he slipped out of his room and through the common room. One of the perks of being prefect was that he didn’t have to care much for the curfew, as long as he managed to look confident on what he was doing.

Once in the corridors, he strode towards the Infirmary with the air of righteous annoyance, willing to give Tristan some select words on his priorities. But turning around the corner, he stopped dead. The Infirmary lay in darkness. As did the small potions lab to the side, Tristan usually used, when he prepared the healing potions needed there.

Regulus’ confusion kept him in place for several minutes, before he hesitantly took a few steps into the dark rooms. He tried to be silent, not to alarm the nurse Madam Pomphrey. He didn’t want to have a discussion with her, right now. He was too astonished, about the revelation that Tristan simply wasn’t here.

That he had lied. No… technically, Regulus had to admit, he hadn’t lied. He hadn’t said anything about where he would be and just let him assume. How very Slytherin. He still wouldn’t get away with that. Stomping in well-deserved anger, Regulus returned to his room and seethed in silence as he waited for the smaller boy’s return.

\----

Tristan was late, and he knew it. At least, this time he wasn’t dead on his feet, when he returned, the reduced workload in the Infirmary showing nicely. This time it had been Peter, who needed his help, after a bone-bending curse just wouldn’t wear off and he was in danger of receiving permanently deformed limbs. They hadn’t consulted the official ways, because he had been a rat, when it happened, and weren’t sure, if he could safely transform back. It was easy enough though, to reset him to his normal self.

Afterwards he had been too tempted to check on Lily’s little spawn to go back immediately and had lost some more time exchanging news with Sirius, James and Remus. He felt happy, though. He left his friends all healthy and safe and secure, which was a nice change.

Humming softly, he slipped back into the Slytherin’s common room and up the stairs to the prefect rooms. Just, when he reached out to open the door, Regulus appeared from the other side, slightly sleepy and very angry.

“Where in Avalon’s sake have you been?” The voice was cool, controlled, seemingly relaxed, which all by itself would have rung any alarm bells he could imagine. Within the moment the good mood was replaced by dread.

“You don’t want to know” he quickly answered, despite the contrary being quite obvious. Biting his lip, he tried to get past Regulus and into the room, but the older boy blocked his attempt. Nervously he bit his lip and grumbled: “So, are we having this argument in public?”

“Little public at this hour” the older boy growled, but let him in, closing and warding the door carefully. “I was worried. You just… disappeared to nowhere.”

Tristan met his eyes, the guilty conscience quite obvious in his face. He hated lying to Regulus. He hated not telling him half of his life. But what choice did he have? He had pondered all the “if onlys” to the point of despair and hadn’t come out of it any different. “Ok… let me rephrase. I can’t tell you.”

Regulus grabbed his arms and shoved him into the desk chair. “Is that, what you have to say? You have _school_ tomorrow. You have _exams_ in three weeks. Yet, instead of working and sleeping,which you would both really need, you pounce off to nowhere and all I get, is: ‘I can’t tell you?’” His face was so close; the angry twitch in his cheek very visible.

Tristan nodded anyways, but started looking at the floor now, only to realize, it would further enrage his lover, as would all the little nervous ticks, the biting of his lip, the flicking of his tongue at the corners of his mouth, the fidgeting. He breathed in and out deeply, without feeling any better. “I know, you care. And I appreciate it.” He didn’t even start on the “but”. For if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop again, it would all spill out, and there would be no going back. It would all go pear-shaped and then… he couldn’t even imagine what then.

Instead, he placed his hands on Regulus cheeks and looked him right in the eyes. “It’s safer, if…”

Regulus interrupted immediately, pushing Tristan’s hands away, but placing his own in an even more intimate gesture on his shoulders, close enough to his neck to choke him. Or caress him. “It’s not. But I get it. You won’t tell me. Well. So be it. But I swear, I won’t let you slip. I won’t let you fumble. Go to bed. We speak about consequences tomorrow.”

Tristan shivered, not out of fear for any punishment, but for the mere fact, he felt very alone right now. But Regulus was still Regulus. He really tried to turn away from his lover, when he got to bed, and still found himself latched to Tristan’s back, when he started falling asleep. Tristan all but purred contently and let his conscience slip away.

\----

The comfortable morning bubble could only hold for so long, so Regulus savored it, while it lasted, his face pressed against Tristan’s nape, his arms folded around the familiar smaller frame. He had tried to be angry. He had tried to bottle it up, so he could still be stern in the morning, but that was impossible. The very smell of Tris already relaxed him, not to mention his skin, his eyes, his… everything. And while it was comfortable, warm, perfect, it was also incredibly frustrating.

He was trying to help Tristan, to protect him. Discovering every day a bit more, how far they had come and how little the boy listened to him anymore, was enraging.

Ah there was his fury again, muted, but not dead. He tried to nurse hit, while simultaneously sinking deeper into that feeling of _home_ he only ever felt here, in this bed, with this boy. That was a bed idea, though. His bristled hackles settled; his seething anger stilled. ‘Mine’ an inner voice provided. ‘To keep, to behold, to treasure.’ He would have to do without the seething heat of emotion.

“This is about… the war?” he ground out in a pained whisper.

For a while, he wasn’t even sure, if his lover was awake, but then he felt him nodding almost imperceptibly and turning to face Regulus. “I know you wouldn’t betray me on purpose. I don’t want you to live with the guilt, if you do it by accident.”

Startled he waited for more information, that never came, before asking, his fingertips tracing the lines of Tristan’s face: “How would you get in and out? The school is…” Stupid. Stupid. Of course, he had help. Of course, someone was in on this. Someone Tristan would want to keep hidden. Of course, every question would only widen the rift. It didn’t matter, this was so wrong on so many levels. It didn’t matter that the Dark Lord, even with all his mistakes and failures _should_ win and _would_ win. Tristan had chosen a side, placed his loyalty and wouldn’t budge. All, he could do, was deal with the fallout.

“I want you out!” he tried anew. “I want you safe. But since I cannot have that, I want you to be careful. And… the exams still come first. Understood?” He wrapped his hands around Tristans cheeks and jaw, forcing him into an intense stare.

“I can’t promise. But I understand.” Tristan smiled sadly. “And I get it, why you are mad.” He didn’t apologize, but he came close, his eyes asking for the forgiveness the voice didn’t.

“I love you fool” he growled, as if that was an argument.

“A fool I am, for I love you back.” Tristan’s eyes went traitorously watery and wouldn’t turn back to normal until he looked away, freeing himself to dress and prepare for classes.

Regulus could do nothing but promising to himself, he would watch out better, not to let it happen again. If Tristan was in too deep, there was no saving him, for right now, _he_ wasn’t in deep enough.

\----

The exams started, inducing the usual mixture of aversion and frustration in Tristan. Despite his less than enthusiastic approach to the preparations, the theoretic part went down well enough, he was confident, Regulus wouldn’t be disappointed. The application tests though… the misery started with Defense, which he botched completely, the sneaky little patronus, no one was expecting from him aside, which heaved his grade just above the line from Poor to Acceptable.

Charms wasn’t any better. After a series of spells, which didn’t work at all, even the ones he could do half-decent flickered badly due to frustration. Another barely A.

After that, he didn’t even think about grades anymore. He just wanted to get through. In general nobody cared about the things, where he performed good anyways. Herbology? Laughable. Potions? Well… ok… Slughorn beamed like a child under the Christmas tree, when he delivered a perfect Draught of Peace. Arithmancy? Who outside of the select few interested in the understanding of spellwork did really care?

Regulus did, though. He checked each and every result with unfaltering thoroughness and stern determination. And he made sure to let Tristan know, he noticed each and every mistake made. It was endearing as it was ridiculous. No matter how much Regulus tried, his reprimands weren’t even close a match to the very much physical reminders of his failures his father had chosen instead. Even in hindsight he sometimes felt the remnants of the headaches that had plagued him even days after each punishment.

Tristan did his best to take them serious anyways. Not to smile and to look sufficiently contritely. Regulus deserved that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so hard to reread that before posting... They get pulled apart at the seams and I so love them together... But... this is, what this is about... Choosing sides, facing decisions... I guess, we are now right where we need to be.


	28. Closer together and further apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second summer apart begins very differently for Tristan and Regulus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last day free, but at this point, I am like 4 chapters ahead, and it's really hard not to give them to you immediately...   
> And yesterday I officially received my 1000th kudos, man, am I proud, thank you, readers out there. ;)

Going by portkey was very much preferable to Sirius’ bike, being transported right into a war he still couldn’t fully grasp, wasn’t. And the almost anxious look on Regulus’ face, when the parted, wasn’t either. He knew every single thought behind those dark eyes, for he found them mirrored in his own head. Will he be ok? Will I see him again? What will he do over summer? Will he get himself into trouble?

Will it even be worth it to come back…? Or will he have changed so fundamentally, he is no longer the person I love?

Those last two hurt most, ripped his heart into pieces, until he decided, to leave them altogether. It wouldn’t help to doubt his love, doubt the very foundation he built half of his life on. He might question, if it was wise, but he couldn’t deny the pure, raw attraction that pulled them together or the soft comforting balm their combined presence spread on their wounded souls.

So instead of looking back to the subtle signs of hurt on Regulus’ face, he looked forward to the broad smile on Sirius’, the warm welcoming hug from Remus, Lily’s cookies, Peter’s quirky humor, James’ stories. The fact that for once, he wouldn’t have to work on injuries to the point of exhaustion because he could leave things for another day. The comforts of seeing them come back alive and well, for a change, instead only seeing the results of botched attempts. It would be nice to get the good things as well.

The other half… the other part of a divided life, sliced through with a hot knife, so that only strained tethers still connected them.

\----

“Oh cousin… so nice to see you…” The voice an annoying hiss, laced with spite and the Black insanity he so feared to fall to himself, sooner or later. Bellatrix.

“Really? You of all people are here to welcome me home?” He tried to sound as surprised as he was, but without letting the animosity shining through.

Bellatrix had once been the shining example for the family, obeying their wishes, despite her objections, marrying a good pure-blood husband she did not love, but who would most certainly provide good heritage and reputation. She had fought her battles, lost and resigned herself into the expectations. Until he came along. The Dark Lord. And now, her inherited madness was in full reign and there was no saying, where it would lead her, for her grasp on reality was flimsy at best, but her power had grown over it.

“Well, cousin, the Dark Lord takes interest in your progress and sent me to have you properly introduced to the right circles. Have no worries, your father and mother know, where you are off to.” She looked him up and down with an expression he could not even start to dissect. All he knew was, it was less then complimentary.

Regulus shrugged. “I’d still like to give my greetings first. You off all people should know how much we value our family duties.”

It was obvious, she strongly disapproved. The good thing about her mania was she got very bad at hiding. If only she had been remotely calculable.

He sighed as deeply as possible. “I mean no disrespect to the Dark Lord. But if I can pay my respect to my family first, it will be off my mind, so I can fully focus on whatever service he expects of me.” That, plus the added semblance of humility cooled her down, before she could escalate in Muggle London. He rather doubted, he wanted to see that. He didn’t have the stomach for that kind of excitement.

“Fine. First your parents, then our Lord’s followers, dear cousin. I hope you are up for a few tasks. The summer is long, but we have so much to do.”

And how he was looking forward to that…

\----

He couldn’t understand, why the hunger, the pure greed in the healers eyes scared Tristan, back, when his core was analyzed. Now he understood it more, than he ever wanted too. The mere look of Voldemort alone could break one into goosebumps, but that was to be expected. It was the looks some of the other death eaters gave him that caught him off guard. Those eyes, glinting, never leaving his back, boring holes into him, until he _craved_ to turn and ask, what in Mordred’s ill will they wanted from him.

He knew what Bella wanted. She was obvious. His light added to hers and she fawned over that man with no dignity at all. Everything she could add to the misdeeds committed in his name was good enough for her. There were no doubts at all she would throw Regulus to the wolves, when he messed up.

Others were harder… Lucius wanted to see him suffer, of course, Abraxas… well… no idea, if he wanted anything at all. And others… There was no way of saying, why their eyes followed him voraciously. Only that he didn’t want to find out.

Unfortunately there was only one way out of this: through. He would have to deal with them, one at a time. The tasks set out for him and the death eaters, that is. Not for the first time, he wished himself back to the safety of Hogwarts. Of Tristan in particular.

\----

Lily in the kitchen was a sight to behold. It was something so domestic he had never seen the likes before. Of course not at Malfoy Manor; his own mother had never been even close to the kitchen. Nowhere else either.

Heavily pregnant by now, she still almost floated around like a little cloud tethered to the ground and looked so happy and pleased, like nothing in the world could disturb her serenity. Of course she sat down more, than she had before. Of course it wasn’t easy, but it seemed worth it, for her, anyways. And when she noticed him, the welcoming smile spreading over her face, was even more of a gift.

He couldn’t help but smile back and hug her (very carefully). “You look… good” he said tentatively. In truth, that was quite the understatement, but he wouldn’t send his pure-blood reserve and politeness up the chimney.

She looked doubtful anyways and grumbled: “Yeah, good… for a barrel… At least, that is, how it feels.” Her eyes sparkled humorous anyways and so he didn’t bother to disagree.

“So… a month after Solstice it is?” he asked, his eyes flying over the kitchen counters to find something to make himself useful. From there they slipped easily into familiar chitchat, as if he had never been away. It felt so good, but part of him wanted to cry. Why couldn’t he ever have it all? Why were the two sides of his life so utterly incompatible, they didn’t even closely resemble each other anymore? As if even he was a different person, depending on who he was with, Regulus or the Marauders.

Later that evening, after dinner, after a welcome from all of the five, after a sociable evening, when he was almost ready for bed, Sirius, Peter and Remus were taking their leave. The house in Godric’s Hollow wasn’t that big and with Tristan around it would have been crowded, if they stayed.

Tristan still watched their leave with a sense of dread. Being left alone with Lily and James equaled being left alone with his own thoughts, for understandably they were mostly occupied with each other. He already felt like an intruder of kind and wouldn’t disturb them any further.

Fortunately, Remus noticed his unrest and invited him for a walk, delaying the inevitable at least a bit longer. And despite Sirius slight frown, probably because they had intended to leave together, Tristan eagerly agreed. His assumption was confirmed, when Sirius transformed into Padfoot and hunted the environment in search for Merlin alone knew what to grant him some privacy but not fully left. He felt a bit bad about it and apologized.

But Remus dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Don’t bother. He likes you. If he doesn’t explode like an ill-brewed potion or pouts like a five year old, you are fine. And even then… He has a hot temper, but doesn’t carry a grudge.”

Padfoot must have heard it, for he paced around, almost ran over Remus, shoving him aside and returned to the twilight, that slowly fell over the neighborhood. “Ouch…” Remus swore a little, then returned his attention to Tristan. “You look like you need someone to talk.”

Amen to that and all hail Remus’ perceptiveness. He nodded slowly and walked aside the werewolf silently for a while, before finally finding some words actually worth speaking. “I think, I am fucked, no matter, what I do.”

Remus furrowed his brow at that, but didn’t immediately answer.

“I mean...” He gestured helplessly, standing still suddenly and turning to Remus. “It doesn’t matter, who wins this war or what I do in the process. Either way, I…” He huffed with frustration and repeated: “I am fucked.”

Remus also halted and watched him silently for a while, looking quite sympathetically. “Because of your…”

Tristan interrupted almost angrily. “I give a… whatever about them at this point. But… Regulus.” Suddenly his eyes searched for the dark shadow that was unmistakably still close. “We…” How could he ever describe, how close he was to the younger Black without getting ripped to pieces by the older?

Remus waited for a while for him to continue, then came to the revelation, why he stopped, somewhat surprised. “I am sure, he wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind what…” Dammit. Sirius. Silent as a shadow, just a few meters away.

Tristan turned towards him, now on the edge, his eyes wide from not quite fear, but before he could make a mess of himself, Remus stepped in, placing one hand at Sirius arm, pushing him just slightly away and whispering something so closely into his ear, it seemed almost intimate.

Sirius laughed. Loudly. “Really? That’s the problem?” Remus nodded gravely, then broke into a smile too. Sirius eyed Tristan over his shoulder, and, very deliberately, planted a kiss to Remus temple, before turning back into a dog and disappearing into the almost darkness.

Remus chuckled, turning back to Tristan. “He is a bit of a show off, isn’t he?” He got serious again, after a moment and continued: “I get it… you worry about Regulus.”

Tristan couldn’t help but shake his head. “No… There is more to that. I mean… If the evil bastard wins the war, we are all doomed anyways. He won’t let any of us live, so I don’t really need to worry, I won’t outlive you. But if he doesn’t, my heart gets ripped out. Regulus… is chest deep in that pure-blood mess.”

He was very aware that Sirius was still listening, but couldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t tell them about the Mark. He wouldn’t tell them about the arguments they had regarding his own activities. He wouldn’t tell them about his fears of what might happen over the summer. They would understand without the details. And maybe it was true, what they said. Maybe talking helped. Although in his situation, having no way out, forced to wait until the worst happened, one way or the other: what little mercies could they even give?

Remus seemed to think the same, for he didn’t try the usual phrases, one would expect. Instead he scratched the back of his neck thoughtful, before eventually sighing: “I know it’s a small consolation. But either you really underestimate your influence on him or… well… he doesn’t deserve you.”

“What can _I_ do against the influence of the damned Dark Lord and all his followers? Me of all people?” he snapped, before returning into his shell of tense silence and apologetic looks. He didn’t want to hurt Remus, who had always been a good listener, but right now, he was just so angry. Not about him, but about the whole situation and what little influence he actually had on his life and the important people in it. But there was no use in anger, so he hid it away again, hid it behind a mask of sad resignation. “Sorry.”

Again, silence spread between them; again it was a comfortable one. Remus wasn’t angry or hurt. He just walked with him, offering companionship, while Tristan figured things out. Or at least found some balance again.

“I should go… I kept you long enough now” he offered in the end, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe, because he didn’t know what else to do with them.

Remus nodded, giving him a reassuring hug. “Good night, Tris. I know we don’t have all the answers yet. But we will figure something out. We won’t let you alone in this.” Afterwards, they parted, Padfoot tagging along Remus’ path, but waving his tail a few times at Tristan before leaving. At least he wasn’t mad at him. That probably counted as a good thing, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, if I remember it right the last nice chapter, before things go pear-shaped. Beware.


	29. Warzones of body and mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Regulus start into very different summers, neither pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post this update early, as I have no idea, if (and when) I will be able to do so tomorrow, it's my first day at the new job, after all. I hope, this will be the new schedule, but I doubt, I can keep the pace of daily updates. 2 - 2,5k words is a bit much, with a fulltime job and kids. I'll try to keep it to 2-3 times a week though, that worked well with my last fic.   
> Which reminds me: this is now officially my longest work yet... And far from finished. I am kind of proud... 
> 
> By the way: from now on, most chapters will have at least one Trigger-warning for violence. Be careful, if you can't handle it well. I MEAN it.

The low hum of excitement emitted from the other participants of the raid (Regulus dared not think the other death eaters, for he didn’t see himself as one) materialized as pulsating ache just at the base of his head. He felt extremely uncomfortable with them and the need not to show any of that complicated the situation even more.

Granted, he didn’t really mind a few Muggles, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the approach most of his – for the lack of a better (or worse) word – companions were taking on their elimination. Or the reason, why they had to be removed: none, none at all. They weren’t in the way, they didn’t disturb any plans, they didn’t even see anything that might have critical. They were merely a target of convenience for the rising unrest of some of the more violent followers of the Dark Lord.

In hindsight, he could count himself lucky, no one had expected him to watch over Greyback’s pack of abominable creatures for their moon hunt, as he wasn’t deemed sufficiently trained in the dark arts to defend himself against them if necessary. But this was only marginally better. Accompaniying Bellatrix, Karkaroff, Dolohov and again Greyback, naturally, on “having some fun”, wouldn’t reach the top list of his favorites anytime soon. Especially since he full well realized, they were testing him.

This was as much a trial as any exam on school, but the stakes were indefinitely higher. He couldn’t hope for a pat on the head for an “Outstanding” and anything below “Acceptable” would result in his death, preferably painful. If only he knew, what was measured. If bloodlust and insanity were the markers, he could just go and dig his grave.

Suddenly, on some silent signal, he didn’t quite catch or which required insanity to be understood, his cousin and her male counterparts started to walk into the village, they intended to wipe from the map. Each had a wand in one hand, but the weapon of choice in the other differed. Bellatrix carried a knife, she had licked, just before moving and that now glistened with just the slightest hint of her blood. Greyback preferred his native weapons, five even in waning moon dangerously impressive fingernails, Dolohov wore a short cudgel, not so much for killing as for applying blunt force as medium of terror. Karkaroff didn’t intend to use anything but his wand at all. He had graduated at Durmstrang and was very well-versed in the Dark Arts.

Regulus himself followed much less enthusiastic, wand mostly drawn for self-defense, and tried to peek into the darkness to identify potential threats. If he pretended to guard the perimeter he might get away with some minor curses, that wouldn’t attract too much attention.

Soon, he heard the first screams, far to the left, followed by and interwoven with the harsh laughter of the werewolf. The scream died, but was immediately replaced by another, indicating, the brute had all the fun, he wished for.

To the right, another stage was set by Bellatrix, who also wasn’t blessed with any subtility. Her happy chorus of “Crucios” and killing curses sent shivers down his spine and would probably follow him into his dreams. She wouldn’t need help erasing whole families and leaving only broken remnants of the minds of potential survivors.

Regulus threw an imaginary coin, trying to decide, if it was wiser to follow Karkaroff or Dolohov, who were further ahead and on a hunch decided for Dolohov. He wasn’t the most intelligent and albeit his cudgel was a cruel and despicable thing, it didn’t scare Regulus half as bad as Karkaroff’s curses. Those things were evil brought alive.

To be less suspicious, he threw curses and hexes, whenever something moved in the dark, a Stupefy here, a Batbogey there. It sounded good and with the lack of light it was unlikely, he really hit something or even someone.

After a few attempts, he could hear Bellatrix screaming, barely coherent: “Ah, don’t be shy, cousin… we wiped you of that itty-bitty tracking curse for underage magic from the ministry.” It didn’t sound like a real sentence, more like the singsong of a children’s rhyme. He shuddered, but took her encouragement, using darker, more advanced spells.

Better be safe than sorry. He would need a good report from her, once they got back, or Voldemort might feel the need for some stress-relief himself. After a while, he noticed, Dolohov slowed down, nearing a house, where just now the inhabitants tried to lock the door, after they realized, the noise they just a minute ago had tried to identify meant nothing good for them, nothing good at all.

An “Alohomora” ended their desperate attempts to look the door easily, then Dolohov was on them, stupefying his victims first, before making use of his secondary weapon for good measure and the fun of it. Blood sprinkled the walls and made Regulus heave especially, when it wasn’t _just_ blood anymore. Suddenly a shadow jumped through the darkness of the summer night, screaming something at the top of his lungs, holding something reflecting over his head, aiming for Dolohov’s back. Out of reflex more than to actually protect the death eater, Regulus screamed “Avada Kedavra” and sent of the killing curse for the first time during that evening.

The shadow fell to the ground with a dull sound, revealing itself to be a muscular hunk of a Muggle man, carrying a well-sharpened axe. He might not have been able to kill the death eater with one strike and might not have had time for the second, but you never knew. Dolohov turned, smiling appreciative and gave him an amused nod. “Very good… Now go and wreak some havoc, will you?” Regulus did, reluctantly. But no one cared about him anymore. He had killed, and they were content. He had shown himself worthy, and would again.

Later, when they met again, after razing half the village, not the whole village to leave more victims and therefore more work for the ministry, when they smelled of blood and violence and things, Regulus didn’t want to think of, they patted his back, and Bellatrix, wet from blood, hugged him with almost childish happiness. “Oh dear, cousin, I almost doubted, you had it in you…”

He had a _name_ for Merlin’s sake, but she couldn’t be bothered to remember it. Not even now.

\----

“Any good with memory charms?” Sirius asked lightly, but with an edge of anger, no fury, when he came to get James.

Tristan merely shook his head sadly. “No, only a healer, sorry.”

With a shrug Sirius grabbed his arm, the hand clasping around the lean muscle almost uncomfortably. “Come anyways. Maybe you can save a few poor souls.”

He wanted to ask, if “they” were still in the area. He didn’t. Sirius and James _knew_ for a fact he could not defend himself. If they took him with them, it was either safe or they had no choice. Either way, he went for it. “Piggyback?”

Sirius sighed. “You still can’t do it on your own?” It didn’t really sound disappointed. They both knew his qualities were in different areas.

Tristan still felt, he should counter. “I am not yet sixteen, you know? You get the license at seventeen.”

It summoned a small smile onto Sirius face. “Sorry, it’s hard to remember. With what we do.”

Just, when he pulled Tristan closer to apparate together with him, James chimed in. “You aren’t yet? When’s your birthday?”

“10th of August” he whispered, before they all disappeared, pulled through the disapparation process and reappeared in a warzone or rather its remains.

The words dissolved and trickled away like water, while the men at his side searched through the area for bodies and survivors, while he tried to save someone’s leg, someone’s eye, someone’s life.

They were muggles, he realized. They didn’t really understand what was happening to them and Sirius and James, together with other members of the Orders, now in the red robes of aurors, obliviated them as soon as he was finished.

For now, in spite of all the pure-blood reserve that was his second nature, it didn’t matter. They were in pain, in fear of life. They deserved help and comfort, what little he could give. Even the smallest, weakest, most unworthy creatures were entitled to some compassion.

\----

Bellatrix screamed for a victory party. Regulus scoffed. Victory over what? A group of deadly frightened muggles with no ability to defend themselves?

He didn’t say it aloud though, it was not the best idea to answer back to his cousin, she was more than just slightly mad and she had the ear of the Dark Lord. Or so she lead everyone to believe at least. He just went along with it, as long as she or anyone else really didn’t ask something of him.

Victory party, he soon learned was a weak excuse for a variety of shows in distaste. They had a stock of muggles or maybe even wizards, it was hard to say in the state they came, ready in the dungeons to feed their different vices.

Regulus did his best to ignore most of it, and it would have been easy, if it wasn’t for the fact, that they liked to switch their victims around. Or the tendency to do their newest addition “a favor” by including him into their exclusive circles, meaning, by the end of the evening he was confronted with the combined efforts of several death eaters to find out, what you can put a human being through without it actually dying or going completely out of his mind.

He retched dryly and tried not to show it, when one of the Lestrange brothers presented him with the thing, that looked only so borderline human anymore that he wasn’t even sure, if it was a man or a woman. He made a weak attempt to cast a crucio, but either it showed, his heart was not in it, or the poor thing was already so done with, it had no capacity to react to it anymore. Lestrange… the older, he guessed, for the younger was only a year or two his senior, patted his shoulder and apologized: “Sorry, we got a bit carried away, next time, you can have your run sooner.”

It took all his restraint, not to falter. To meet Lestrange’s gaze and shrug. “Well then… Avada…” It was a mercy killing, really.

\----

“Do you sometimes want to go home?”

Sirius watched him, after the question, as them both and Remus sat outside on the low roof of what once had been the stables and let their legs dangle, like the boys they were supposed to be. “Not anymore.” It sounded as sad as Tristan felt.

“Me neither” he admitted, looking down at his slender whitish Malfoy hands. “Each time, we go, I hope, I do not meet him.” The question hung there. Lucius? Or Regulus? He didn’t have an answer either. “Have you ever… doubted?”

Sirius laughed, seemingly more relaxed now. “Never. I had… friends, a new family of sorts. I had nothing to go back to.”

Tristan wasn’t relaxed. Or happy. “Not even Regulus? You could have saved him.” His heart burned at the thought. The futile delusion, everything could have been alright, they could have been at the same side. Regulus could be… for the lack of a better word: safe. His soul at least.

Sirius leaned closer and so did Remus, until their shoulders both almost touched his, giving some warmth, some comfort. “He didn’t want to be saved.” Hesitantly he added: “There were times, when we almost hated each other. There are still times, when I curse his stubborn adherence to this pure-blood shit.” All the serenity of the summer afternoon was vanished by now. “I love him, but I don’t think he would make the right decisions.”

How right he was, Tristan thought and continued to inspect his hands, then forearms. Where the mark would be, had he chosen to take one. He was glad, he didn’t. He was all but that that Regulus did. “What do you think you would do, if they made you go back?”

He could see Sirius impulse to answer, they couldn’t. That he was by all means strong enough, fierce enough to make his wishes perfectly clear. Until he realized, what Tristan was really asking. Then he halted, staring into the sun-glazed fields thoughtfully. “I don’t think they would force it on you. Or could. You have to be willing, I guess.”

He could die instead. Of course. He knew the Order would try to help him, by now. At least James and Sirius. He also knew of the almost impregnable wards of Malfoy Manor. And of so many disappearances that no one could keep track, could be sure, what actually happened. They wouldn’t want to let him rot in his families loving care. But they would, because they had no choice. “I’ll brew some painless death then. Better to be safe.”

Both the Marauders sent hurt looks at him, but in the end, didn’t object. A small vial was preferable to the endless torture he could reasonably look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, this is the first war-chapter and it was really hard to write that, although it came in a rush... I guess, I have a really messed up mind ;)


	30. A mirror darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus descents into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really looking forward to posting this and the next chapter. But credit, where credit is due, I was inspired by this fic to write this part the way I did: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986366/chapters/13756558  
> Another Trigger warning: more violence ahead.

As the summer went on, raids got more frequent and Regulus wasn’t able to avoid them as much as he would have liked. Raids meant bloodshed. Raids meant he needed to kill. There was no way around that. And not as cleanly as the first two. He would relive those in the worst of his dreams, probably for the rest of his life.

For days, he had not dared to think back to school. Not even back to home. Walburga would be unfazed. He had only killed muggles. Those didn’t count. Orion would be indifferent. You did what you had to do. In the end, only family mattered. Arcturus… no, Regulus decided. His grandfather would not think less of him. He would say you had to serve, before you could rise to greatness, and you used whatever means necessary. The Slytherin way.

Regulus still wished he could talk to him, confide with him. Of all people Arcturus might understand. Might find it in him to reassure is grandson. Turn the situation this way and that, until new angles became visible, new possibilities presented themselves.

He had hated him at times, when the firm pure-blood ethics had been forced upon him and his grandfather hadn’t even acknowledged his struggle. He had been cross with him, when it came to Sirius, first, because his older brother was the heir, through all his mischief, all his misdeeds, all his misdemeanor. And then, because he wasn’t and the burden of expectations was instead placed on him. But through all of this, Arcturus had always seen the big picture. Regulus could admire that.

He wished he was as blessed. Only see the big picture. Sacrifices need to be made. What does a little bit of your good conscious, of your soul count, compared to that?

Tristan wouldn’t see it that way. Merlin, Tristan. Only the mere thought of him pierced his heart with cruel intensity. No, Tristan would strongly disagree. He couldn’t hurt a fly; he wouldn’t understand hurting a living, thinking, breathing human being. He would hate what Regulus had done. Would he hate him too? Regulus couldn’t say and shoved the thought away, as if it had burned him.

He is weak, he needs your protection, he reminded himself, clinging desperately to the notion that this was true. But was it?

\----

Solstice came and went and with each day, Tristan feared more for Lily. It was nothing physical, although the late state of her pregnancy left her with much to complain. It was the haunted look in her eyes, each time, James left the house. It was the soft shiver in her hands, when she prepared a meal, the muggle way. It was the unrestful sleep he watched, when she lied down after lunch.

And he could do so little to ease her anxieties, when he carried the very same and more. What he could do, was taking over more and more of the house duties, so she could at least have some physical comfort. That held its own awkwardness however, as she began to watch him doing them. As if she was pondering something.

He tried not to think too much about it, which was surprisingly easy, with all the things he could busy himself with. Homework, low priority, house work, middle priority, and because he was unchecked at large, studying the book Moody had got him for Christmas, very high priority. He by now knew that a surge of energy, laced with strong emotion, opened the first section of the book, which contained rituals of healing and protection, like the one he had performed on Christmas. Compared to what the Dark Arts could do, neither was particularly powerful, but compared to what he could do without, they held more than a little temptation.

He still had to figure out the differences in the necessary sacrifices though, as he really couldn’t just rely on trial and error. What, for example was the difference between just blood and life blood? Especially since that was not the same as offering a life, as this was also mentioned? At least, some rituals had already proven useful.

He could offer some minor injury that caused him pain to gain additional energy, allowing him to continue, when he would have otherwise been exhausted. The injuries usually healed spectacularly slow, but it was fine as emergency helper.

He could create low level protection for people, though that was risky, for he had to bear their pain and you couldn’t predict, how much that would be. It would stop them from bleeding out or die of shock though.

And he could exchange a clear mind now for elongated periods of sleep later. That one had helped a lot, especially during his exams period, not that Regulus should be made aware, but was even more risky. If you weren’t careful that one could get you killed.

Most of the others, doing more interesting things, required things he didn’t have or didn’t want to risk, like live-blood, the death of a minor creature or greater amounts of injury dealt to a sacrifice. So he worked with what he had and memorized those, he found at least tempting, in case, he would be desperate enough later.

\----

It was a rare occasion, that Lord Voldemort actually joined the festivities of his followers, instead of just handing out orders and retreating with his most trusted inner circle. There were most disturbing rumors about what happened behind that doors, once they were closed, but judging by the noises, Regulus wasn’t inclined to find out.

But today, they wouldn’t close. Today the Dark Lord intended to stay, to see into the abyss his followers made of their souls and to reward them with even more depraved fantasies. Regulus didn’t want to see that. Regulus didn’t want to be here at all. But Regulus knew this was another test, another hoop to jump. If he couldn’t face this, he would be sorted out and suffer the fate of a traitor that was regularly executed on some poor sod in public display for everyone’s enjoyment and education.

To add insult to injury today Lucius Malfoy was present, watching him with malicious glee. He would very much like to see the younger Black fail in the eyes of the Dark Lord. It would make any move of his own unnecessary and still lead to a thorough satisfaction of his vengeful feelings.

What he couldn’t anticipate though, was what strange effects he had on Regulus. The face itself reminded him of all the things, he held dear, all the reasons, he had entered into this misery in the first place. Albeit Lucius seemed to do everything in his power to reduce the similarity he still wore the same face as Tristan did, in a way, his sneer made the obvious resemblance even more striking.

And the expressions alarmed the younger Black brother quite enough to make sure, he wouldn’t slip. At all. May his frustration rise, his disgust get near overwhelming, he would hold on. There was no other way.

This in mind he concentrated on everything but the obvious, ignoring the screams, the laughter, the smells, the… everything, instead dreaming himself away, so far away, back to the times before the mark, the times of ultimate trust, when he first experienced love and found, it was worth every risk, every sacrifice. It wouldn’t stick. Reality crept back, threatening to stain the memories he needed so badly, until he had no choice but to dismiss them, if only to save them from getting lost to this nightmare.

Almost too late… Pictures of Tris on the ground, tortured by crucios and injuries, humiliated to the bone, close to dying, already lurked in the back of his mind; a danger he by now knew was too real to ignore it any longer.

The younger Malfoy had only implied, he had made enemies here, and Regulus had still no idea at all, how so, but he did and didn’t want to find out at the same time. Better not to think of it; better to get back to the moment, no matter how gruesome. And just in time again. Already expectant eyes watched him, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord himself.

He ignored them, watched Lucius Malfoy instead, watched, what undignified show he made of that face, he really didn’t deserve and unleashed all the frustration building in him at once. “Crucio!”

He didn’t even register the pained cries, the writhing of a body before him; he stared at Lucius, who stared back, his composure slowly eroded by the things that in truth were directed at him, only at him. Only, when it was very, very clear, the Malfoy heir had gotten the message, he stopped, finally glancing at his surroundings.

His hostility towards one of Voldemort’s more trusted lieutenants had definitely not gone unnoticed, though Voldemort as well as some others found it merely amusing, rather than threatening or otherwise problematic. Perhaps he should not have made such a show of it. Or maybe it wasn’t that bad after all: the Dark Lord loved to pit his followers against each other. And giving Lucius another lecture in humility was just, what he really, really needed right now.

If he was honest to himself, he was projecting a lot of other things on the most viable target, but right now, being picky was not really an option. He wouldn’t object.

\----

Field day. Excursion. Moody-administered. Of course a lot of training. The old warhorse and his never-ending litany of “constant vigilance” could really exasperate even the calmest mind. But then again: this was actually fun. Dodging fake curses and putting up a decent Protego barrier. Running and turning and ducking. Physical resistance, or as Moody put it: “An unexpected edge you have on most wizards.”

Anatomy. Dispelling. Apparition again (he failed again). Escape tactics.

If you ignored the grave need of those lectures, they were quite enjoyable. For the first time ever, Tristan felt, like he could actually do something against attackers. Not much, not in the long run, but some nasty little surprises were nice too.

And then there were more obscure lessons. Swimming. Muggle devices. Survival. What would he need that for? He was a wizard. But Moody insisted and so he learned willingly, rather than enrage the auror.

As the day went by, he was comfortably exhausted and so were the others. Not bone tired or driven beyond the bearable, just nicely done. He liked that. He liked the proud smile on top of Moody’s trademark scowl too.

He didn’t like the face, Lily made, when she welcomed them back, nor the hurry, in which James left, after a short talk. Of course one of the others remained with them, they never spent a night alone anymore, what with Lily’s condition and the rising dangers, but it rarely wasn’t James, staying. And today, Peter, wasn’t his preferred option either. It would do, though. He was too happy to let it bleed away just yet. Just don’t acknowledge the lurking darkness.

\----

Another night out, another raid, another chain of events with less than preferable outcomes. Another few muggles wiped of the map. By now it was a dreadful, yet common routine. By now, he knew his preferred company. Not Lucius, not Greyback, certainly not Bellatrix. The Lestranges were mostly ok, if you didn’t get in their way, though ruthless and evil, acting in a unity, he would have wished for with Sirius.

Avery was pleasant, controlled and cool. He almost liked Evan Rosier, easy-going and charismatic, if it wasn’t for the sudden and unprovoked bursts of sadism, mostly leading to not death but something even worse. It was hard to tell, what drove each of them, but they were all certainly better than his first “party”.

Today, he was lucky. Goyle, though stupid, was predictable, Mulciber less so, but he didn’t exactly care for others and wouldn’t report back, leaving only Avery, who was certainly dangerous, but with whom Regulus got along. They joined the fray together and watched each other’s back, just in case. It was rumored, there were some wizards living here. Better to be safe than sorry.

Of course, the agreement was as mutual as it was shaky. It wouldn’t hold under even the slightest amount of pressure. There was no trust among the wolves. It was still better than nothing. Better especially than someone in his back who was just as likely to kill him themselves. And smirk along happily.

Fake-relaxed he stood back, as Avery started to open doors at random, hoping to bring forth some panicked victims, which was usually preferable to seek them out in their hiding holes. Muggle homes left both him and Regulus at best unimpressed, at worst retching. How could people live so ordinarily, so pathetic. The mere sight of unwashed dishes or dirty socks gave him shivers of disgust. Better to stay outside. Also less chance of ambushes. They weren’t invincible after all.

Today was a good day though. The presumably present wizard showed up, before they had to search for him, so there would be less slaughter. Typical Gryffindor, brave, stupid, naïve. As if his almost sacrifice would stop any of it. The redhead, possibly a Weasley, stormed at them and threw his first spells, obviously not really expecting to do damage yet, but to distract them. When Avery stepped back into the shadows grinning and winking at Regulus, he concentrated solely on the remaining target, the younger Black brother.

Bastard. He should have anticipated that move; Avery would probably want to see him in action and would raise no finger, if he couldn’t handle it. At least not, until he was exposed to danger as well. Well, time for some advanced magic. At school Regulus had been a decent duelist, and the time here had only honed his skills. He could not afford to slip, so he wouldn’t.

With practiced ease he raised his shields, then attacked the opponent. Stunners and hexes were exchanged, he dodged, threw a good curse, catching the other by surprise, almost ending the fight, before it really started. But the other wasn’t bad either, jumped out of the path in the last possible second, took some cover to answer with a decent curse of his own. So much for light wizard…

Regulus grinned unhappily, threw some taunts in his direction, never fully disregarding the environment. A good destructive spell removed the other wizard’s cover and exposed him to another nice hex, cutting open his robes, and hopefully a little more.

The limp he showed afterwards could have been a ruse, but Regulus doubted it. He still was quite a danger, as a new volley of spells demonstrated. Another few exchanges, then Regulus lost his patience. He needed to end this, before Avery got ideas. Covering the other wizard with some lesser spells, he prepared his final strike, restricting his movements, until he couldn’t get away anymore and casting the final, the ultimate curse.

The wizard fell without a hassle, the green glow dissolving as soon as he hit the ground. Above him, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, as he heard Avery screaming at the top of his lungs: “Morsmordre.”

Oh Merlin… He had killed a wizard. Not some muggle scum, a wizard, and by all means a worthy one. Maybe a blood traitor, maybe a muggle lover, maybe a half-blood, but still someone worthy of this acknowledgement. And he didn’t even know his name. Breathlessly he watched the glow of the Mark scatter the ground with its uneven light.

The funny thing was, he didn’t even feel guilty. Only tired, empty. Numb. Unable to connect with what had just happened, unable to process it. In a way, this murder was no different from the last or the one before, or even the first. In a way, it changed everything. He heard the disapparations of Goyle, Mulciber and then Avery. It took him so long to follow he began to ask himself, if he would at all. Or if he would just stay, waiting until the aurors came and ended him. Maybe that would be nice. No more thinking, no more fighting, no more killing his soul bit by bit. Just darkness.

In the end, he didn’t. There were still things, he had to do, people he had to care for. No matter, if they still wanted him to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very curious, if you find Regulus descent believable... Please let me know.


	31. Yin and Yang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One meets the beginning, the other the end of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we play: spot the StarTrek reference ;)  
> And I think, another Trigger-warning is in order. This time, especially for MALE readers. Birth is discussed, and none to nicely. So, stay out of Tristan's chapters.

Late July was hot enough for all of them to suffer. It had to be unbearable to Lily, who was now expecting every day. And worse for wear, James was mostly absent, because his father had fallen ill, something age-related, from which he wouldn’t recover. It was just a question of time. And each and every one of them prayed the kid would be born before James’ father parted, so he could see his grandchild at least once.

But there was no rushing it. Day after day went by without the least sign of a new development as James went back and forth between Godric’s Hollow and the Potter estate, as Sirius, Remus and Peter tried to substitute for him at the best of their abilities, as Tristan watched things with more than a little concern. Something was wrong. He just couldn’t put the finger on it. Something tucked at the back of his mind, as if it was waiting for him.

From the moment he first realized it, he decided to stay close, just in case. Neither of the others could do what he was capable of. Even when Moody proposed another training lesson, he declined and the Marauders backed him. Neither of them wanted to leave Lily and James on their own. It was just too much to bear at once, no matter, how much the auror pointed out the war wouldn’t wait for them. The baby wouldn’t either. Nor death.

\----

“Crucio.” Voldemort’s voice was strangely callous, when he cast the spell. Regulus went to his knees, shaking, then further down, until he lay on the ground, fully aware of his agony, but unable to do anything about it. He didn’t even know, what it was that had left the Dark Lord displeased with him. At least, the punishment was short-lived enough not to force him into disgracing himself; not so long to reduce him into a crying mess. Others had been less fortunate in the past.

And were less fortunate now. “Lucius…” the Dark Lord hissed, as he recognized the spiteful grin on the older Malfoy’s face, when Regulus fell. “I see, you perceive the value of a lesson in obedience. I shall see that you notice the value of loyalty as well.” With that he turned the same spell on him, now looking very content as if he had waited for this very prompt.

“You may go” he let Regulus know, without fully turning attention to him. “I expect to see more commitment from you in the future.” Regulus didn’t object. No matter how little he intended to obey.

\----

There was the tell-tall twitch in Lily’s face. Tristan had read up on the topic and expected it. He had noticed it since breakfast and had started to count. He hadn’t said something, as he didn’t want to tell, before Lily did, but the times went down. Half an hour. Fifteen minutes. Didn’t she notice? Or was she reluctant to get them worried? Either way, when the time went down to seven, he couldn’t wait any longer.

Silently he strode to her side and caught her attention with a small squeeze to her hand and a gesture of his head toward James. Just, when Lily nodded, not quite agreeing, but understanding at least, everything changed. Peter and Remus stepped in through the garden door, screaming for James, and before either of them could even say “but”, he was grabbing his things and leaving in a rush. Outside he checked the wards and added an alarm spell in case, someone tripped the wards, and then, he was gone.

Tristan exchanged a look with Lily. “Is there someone I can call?”

Lily thought about it for a moment, before shaking her head. “I’d say my mother in law, but with her husband ill…” She shook it again and tried a reassuring smile. “We can do it together though, can we? You have seen worse and I… too.”

Tristan smiled uneasily. “Lily, I am a healer, not a midwife.”

She squeezed his shoulder, which turned out harder than intended, when a wave of pain hit her, and panted out: “It’s a little late for that objection, I fear.”

“St. Mungos?” he offered hopelessly, already awaiting her decline.

“You can do it, Tris” she assured him.

He begged to disagree.

\----

The wizard was stripped of his robes to the waistline, the rest remaining not for decency but simply for convenience: to soak up the blood that slowly seeped down. He had been prepared for the moment, thoroughly crucioed, his bones broken, limbs mangled beyond repair, in addition, to add the taste of true horror to the pain, the spell offered.

He had once been one of them, the Mark still visible, but had fallen into disgrace, his failures significant enough for this demonstration. Voldemort watched in silence, only a wave of his hand drew Regulus forward.

Still without a single word, he stepped behind the younger Black and placed a hand on his shoulders, spreading goosebumps all over his body. Then, with an almost inaudible whisper, he started giving commands. A cutting curse, a stinging hex, slow, deliberate destruction. Regulus didn’t look away, didn’t close his eyes. Regulus complied. It came a relief, when he was allowed to finish it, but finishing he did.

\----

“Something is wrong” Tristan rasped, as he ran another diagnostic spell over Lily, verifying, what the first had revealed. “According to everything I know, the baby should be lying head down, but it isn’t, it’s…” he tried to explain, but lacked the words.

It didn’t matter anyways. In the hour since sunset, the darkness slowly falling, she had been in so much pain, she barely registered him. More to quiet his mind than for her benefit, he whispered: “I’ve got to do something…” He would have preferred to have someone else to help him, someone to relief him of the responsibility, someone to tell him, it would turn out right. There was no one. James was gone and no one else was going to come. By now, he couldn’t even afford another attempt of fire-calling Sirius, Remus or Moody. He couldn’t leave her alone long enough.

It didn’t matter anyways. If this wasn’t working, he was fucked. And so was she. Focusing he envisioned the kid, hoping the bump in Lily’s stomach counted as line of sight. Then, very thoroughly, he first cast the protection spell for Lily, so she wouldn’t be injured, no matter what happened, than the moving charm.

He had to drown out her cries, had to hold onto his concentration. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his back, as he went on. She grabbed his arm and squeezed; pain shot through it, as the bones broke under her desperate grip. He didn’t budge, didn’t allow himself to even think of it. “Come on, Lily, you can do it. Now you can do it.”

\----

“Regulus.” He had no idea, why his name became an insult, when it was uttered by the Dark Lord. An insult or a verdict, he was never sure, which. “I shall require your assistance.” He waved to made him follow and appointed him his servant for the day, making him watch, how he first planned new raids, then judged the accomplishments of his followers, and finally enjoyed a good nice session of punishment for underperformers.

Regulus hated very minute of it, not only, because it was just another test of his loyalty, to find out, if said raids would be compromised, although by now, he should have been perfectly free of any suspicions. Even more so, because he was reduced to nothing more than a more sophisticated house elf, serving tea for a man, so arrogant, he assumed, humiliating a Black would go unpunished.

It wouldn’t, though. It wouldn’t.

\----

The night felt so long, he felt horribly alone, with Lily panting, still fighting to birth the baby, unable to do much but breathing. “Lily… d’y’trust me?” he slurred, at the end of his wits.

Slowly, her hair clinging to her sweat-covered brow, she nodded. “I do.”

He shivered. “I can take away your pain, but I can’t help you, after that. You have to do the rest alone.”

Her brow furrowed in slow motion. “Where will you be?” Her voice was hoarse and brittle, but at least coherent again. Once he had turned the baby, it had gotten a lot better.

“Incapacitated.” He swallowed harshly, trying not to let his fear show. Taking her pain would cost him dearly, he knew. But he wouldn’t let his efforts go to waste.

“Ok…”

He nodded and started the ritual to protect her from pain and shock and bleeding.

\----

This was, how pure hatred felt. This was, what Voldemort wanted his followers to feel. Only… it wasn’t supposed to be hatred towards _him_. Unfortunately that was all, Regulus could think any more. He hated, hated, hated him, with all his heart. What he made him do, what he made him feel, what he made him be.

That man deserved all hatred and more. That man deserved to be purged from the face of the earth. That man deserved to be swallowed by the darkness he created.

\----

It was half past two and the house lay completely dark, when James entered it, carefully silencing his movements not to wake anyone. Suddenly a small high-pitched noise sounded from the living room. Like… a baby! He all but apparated there, lighting the charmed lamps, once he arrived. Lily sat, still half naked perched against the sofa, soothing a small bundle in her arms. Deep shadows lay below her eyes and pained eyes around her mouth. She had never looked so beautiful, never so happy. “Meet Harry” she whispered and offered him to his father, who took him reluctantly, in sudden fear to hurt this tiny thing by accident. “And now”, she added, “get a healing potion for him.” She pointed to a corner, where Tristan sat huddled, his head between his knees.

For now, James didn’t ask questions.

\----

Everyone shrank under the inquisitive stare of the Dark Lord. But it was Bellatrix’ rambling madness, leaving them on the edge. Even well-settled death eaters like Selwyth or Rowle flinched and froze then, standing under her stare, as she went along the line of people present. “Eeny meeny miney moo…” Seemingly random. Picking out today’s victim of choice. Please don’t let me be it. A constant and shared prayer.

\----

“You know, I am not 16 yet, eh?” Tristan grinned, when James offered him a glass of fire whisky, very, very expensive fire whisky.

“You weren’t exactly 16, when you helped my son getting born, were you?” was the amused answer.

Tristan shrugged and tried the warm, red-gold liquid carefully. It lit a short fire in his mouth, but left a pleasant burn and a warm vanilla and caramel taste. Sirius, Peter and Remus already had their glasses and lifted them contently, before drinking too. “To Harry.” Everyone could agree on that.

“So…” James took the initiative again and looked around. “As everyone expected, Sirius, I want you to be the godfather. Can you do that for me?” The marauders jeered and drank another bit, Sirius beaming with pride. Of course, they made lots of jokes on his expense, before another small silence allowed James to continue. “Furthermore, I want to thank you, Tristan. And apologize. We shouldn’t have left you alone in that. We… should have been more careful.”

It was the most personal thing, James had ever said to him and he looked quite sheepishly about it. He didn’t really know what to say, so he just shrugged and tried to hide behind the tumbler. In the end, he managed, though barely audible: “You couldn’t know. As Moody said: war doesn’t wait.”

“And you managed formidably” Sirius added, raising his glass once more. “I just can’t imagine how you ended up with a broken arm.”

“You try being around at a birth…” Remus suggested tauntingly and grinned, despite the fact, he had no more experience in that than his best friend. It ended in another wild fit of laughter, while the fire whisky slowly did his work and relaxed them all, one by one, little by little.

Remus put an arm around Sirius shoulder, Peter coiled up on the couch contently, Tris… didn’t think about the ritual anymore. About the pain, about the scare, about the moment, in between, when he thought he couldn’t do it, when he thought, he would die.

Instead, he remembered the moment, when he had held Harry first. Took him, cleaned him, put him into a blanket. The tiny baby had been too exhausted from the long process it hadn’t even screamed properly. Just a few small mumbling sounds, then some happy sighs, when it found its way onto its mother’s chest. Understandably, Tristan had backed off, then, left them alone in their small bubble of peace and love, and had, figuratively speaking, started to lick his wounds. It had been worth it.

That little human being was alive because of him. Lily had survived, because of him. He _was_ proud. It just was nothing, he would have shared. With anybody. Not even James. Not even Sirius or Remus. The former wouldn’t even understand. The latter… he wasn’t sure. Maybe, he would tell them. Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might say, it is unbelievable how unprepared Lily and James are for the arrival of the baby, but I assure you: I had the pleasure and was equally unprepared for what can go wrong. I didn't even know, which hospital I should go to. So, in truth, when you have other things on your mind, you really believe, everything will go according to nature's plan and nothing will go awry. You are to full of hormones and sleep deprivation to think a lot at all.


	32. Happy birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan gets a big surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little reprieve from the darker chapters behind and somehow also ahead, though it gets angsty again around the end.   
> No trigger on this... YAY

August began as hot as July ended. Tristan could barely sleep at night. Which was just as good, because, albeit Harry was a quiet baby, he was very nocturnal. Taking turns, James and Tris carried the little guy around, because Lily was still shaky on her legs. He slept best, when one of them walked with him around, preferably outside, where the cool night wind brought at least some relief.

Tristan didn’t know, what James told his son; he sang the lullabies for him, he had learned from the house elves, only, he changed the words. Little Harry didn’t need to hear from the hatred of purebloods against all creatures. Needed not hear, how blood was shed and how every child was just another pawn for its family’s ambition. He made up funny wordplays about dragons and faeries, about werewolves (see Remus, not Greyback) and animagi.

Mostly it was the nonsense one cooks up, when one is bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived. The baby boy didn’t complain though; as long as the sing-song was melodic, he looked happy or cutely tired.

And he told him, that if wishes were real, what he would wish for him. “If I had three wishes for you, Harry, I’d wish you the strength to shape your life to your wishes. I’d wish you to make friends easily and have them loyal. I’d wish for you to be happy and enjoy not only the big things, but also the little things in life.” Wishes were not real. Promises were, though. So he promised: “I’ll watch out for you. I am not your parents, nor your godfather, I am nothing to you, but you are hope to me. I want you to live a life full of joy. And I will damn well make sure.” Harry giggled to that and Tristan felt a little bad for swearing. Not that someone would know.

\----

Remus grinned, when he saw Sirius mischievous smile. “So, what do we do? And who is in?”

The grin grew wider. “James, obviously. He still feels bad… But his head is not in it, cue family situation, we have to pull it off alone. Lily. Specifically. Us two. Moody. Peter… partially. He doesn’t really understand, why we bother. Something along the lines, like: we never did it for someone else.”

Remus couldn’t help it: he wrestled Sirius down, planting a kiss on his cheek. “We never knew someone like this.”

Sirius nodded. “He deserves… something. I am just not sure, we are doing this right.” Remus could see, it was hard for him to stay focused, with him so close, but it was equally difficult to stop teasing.

“You never know, until you try.”

\----

On the morning of the 9th of August Fleamont Potter died. He died happy, knowing, that his son had a beautiful child, a tiny grandchild with a bunch of black hair on his head already and tiny fists, that held his fingers until both were too tired to go on. James couldn’t understand, how one could be so happy and so sad at the same time. He had always known, his parents were old, compared to others, they would die early.

But this mortality had never really been… there. He had never fully realized it until now. And once, he did, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t ignore the frailty of his mother, nor the fact, that his father had been her life, that she wouldn’t wish to go on without him. That he would lose her too.

He had also never been… truly in charge. In the course of just a few days, he went from sheltered son to being a father, responsible for providing not only for his wife, but a baby too. A baby and a wife that would have been dead, because of his recklessness. Because he stormed of, before checking on them. Because he had put his job first and not them.

Of course, it had been for a good cause. Of course, it was an unfortunate coincidence. Of course he had done his best to have them covered, to get back early, to… He wasn’t just yet ready to forgive himself. It would take time and effort. It would take his friends support and his wife’s reassurances.

Yet, he counted himself lucky. And it was time to say his thanks. He would care for his father, and said friends would do the thanking for him. Strange, how four had become five, then six, and now, counting little Harry seven. He couldn’t imagine living without even one of them anymore, especially not the latest addition, only a few days old. That little thing already held his heart.

Going forth from this day, he knew, they, all of them, would fight for the kid. For his future.

\----

Tristan woke up, sparing just a single thought for his birthday. He hadn’t celebrated in years. There had been no one to celebrate with for so long, he had stopped caring. Instead he checked on Lily and Harry, knowing James would already have left to arrange a funeral.

They were alright, both sleeping for a change, and so he left them breakfast at the bedside table and went for the garden. He needed some herbs to brew some new healing potions, and those were best when the dew hadn’t dried of yet.

While he started, carefully picking rosemary, dittany and what else he needed, he felt the wards thrumming and looked up just in time to see Remus, Sirius and Peter approaching. He shrugged, shouted over to them that James wasn’t there and got back to work. Usually that did the trick to make them leave him alone and go to whatever they had planned.

Today it didn’t. While Sirius and Peter left for the house, Remus turned to the garden and only stopped next to him, looking down wordlessly for a while, or at least until he rose again, looking quizzically. “What is it?”

Remus tried his best to suppress a grin. Unsuccessfully so.

“Stop that” Tristan snapped. “I’ve got work to do.” With that he bundled the herbs into small bunches and stored them in a basket.

Remus very carefully took said basket out of his hands, still smiling. “Tris? We decided, you need a break.”

Tristan knew, he was being baited. He couldn’t help it, though. “Who is we, exactly?” he asked heatedly, snatching the basket back and heading for the house, trying very hard not to look if Remus would follow.

What followed him first, was the werewolf’s laughter. Only thereafter he heard his steps, but he was by his side, when they arrived at the door.

Tristan tried to head straight for the kitchen, but found himself stirred towards the living room, where the other two men waited. They stood awkwardly in front of the table, parting, to show a cake with a candle on top, when he stepped closer.

“Sorry”, Sirius announced smiling, “it’s shop-bought. Lily would have preferred to have hit made herself, but she was in no shape and we would have messed it up.”

He was at loss of words. He had not yet arrived at sheepish thanks or even acknowledgements, he was still stuck to the realization, that indeed, it was actually his birthday. How was he to reconcile with the fact that someone cared beyond the mere administrative notice? “I…” he stumbled, fleeing into familiar territory. “I’ve got work to do.” He tried turning towards the kitchen, but Remus caught him, just in time.

“Tristan. Calm down. We are friends, you know?” His hands wrapped around Tristan’s wrists, turning him back around.

\----

They had done all kinds of things, different members of the Order taking him in side-along-apparition through what felt like half of Britain, either Sirius or Remus at his side, while Peter cared for Lily and the baby. The had had breakfast in the bakery, where he fast really talked with Sirius, they had gone swimming in some lake, shadowed by forest trees, the water cool and refreshing, they had a small feast for lunch and ice cream for desserts.

They had walked through a bustling Muggle town under Notice-me-nots, pointing out all the funny devices, used there. They had done a little shopping in one of the smaller wizarding communities, just some things Tristan would need, and hadn’t accepted any objections.

They had watched the sun set at the seaside, near the giant’s pathway, water lapping at their naked feet, as they walked along the shore. They had had… fun. It had been one of the best day in Tristan’s memory.

And now, they were sitting in the darkness on some non-descript bench in some non-descript field, Remus and Sirius and even Moody, all acting very mysterious. And then… the sky… exploded. Not in the sickeningly green flare of the Dark Mark, but in a myriad of colors, painting and repainting the darkness with flashes of red and green and white, gold and bronze, and everything in between. It was beautiful. And, as Remus explained, done completely without magic.

Tristan could barely believe it. Muggles by all means were a lot more resourceful than most pure-bloods gave them credit for. Afterwards, they sat a long while in near darkness and talked about the most ridiculous things. About school pranks, childhood pets, strange lands out of reach, everything but the present, everything but the war.

Tristan hugged each of them in turn, before saying goodbye, even Moody, who wasn’t quite as stiff as he had imagined. “Thank you. I… It was a wonderful day.”

\----

Regulus started to get really desperate. The longer the summer went on, the more he doubted they would let him get away. Back to school. Voldemort seemed hell-bent on making him his personal doormat.

Strangely, this wasn’t the same as being disliked. People, the Dark Lord disliked, tended to turn up dead, with all signs of a terrible end. More like, he preferred Regulus’ humiliation, scare, disgust, before everyone else’s. As if doing things to a proud member of the most important ancient house, older, more noble even then any of the other 27, pleasured him to no end. In the light of this assumption Regulus wouldn’t want to think, what he had with Bellatrix, and if this gave an explanation to her declining mental health.

He didn’t intend to end in a similar manner, which meant, he had to do something about it. Just to be safe. He fetched an owl and sent it to his grandfather, both stating his wish to return to school to complete his education and… the other issue.

The answer came not even ten hours later, promising, everything would be taken care of and including an appointment to discuss… well, that.

\----

The days of summer withered away, and with them, hope. Tristan could hide from the darkness in Harry’s presence. No brooding over a baby. But that aside, he dreaded the day, he had to go back to school. There were so many reasons, he needed to stay, so few to go. He tried to explain, he tried to convince the Marauders. He promised he could care for himself. He wouldn’t bother them; he would live on his own money, however little, in his own place.

He didn’t want to leave them, he didn’t want to meet Regulus and find out, what he had become. Two months were a long time for them. The day, they sent him back, he woke up in tears. He didn’t let anyone see them. He just wouldn’t. Tomorrow Regulus, too, would be back. Tomorrow his heart would shatter. Like a man on his execution day, he took his last meal in the Great Hall, still devoid of all life, the echoes slowly driving him mad.

\----

Regulus felt Arcturus watch him with interest, not necessarily dismissive, still undecided. “I appreciate, you asking for permission, grandson, but I dare say, I won’t allow it, until I understand your intentions. Why would you do that?”

At first, the younger Black didn’t understand. He had already explained, how Tristan would be a perfect candidate. How his family dismissed him, despite the obvious gains, he offered. How under his wing, he thrived and would further, given the right circumstances. How he needed protection. Then, it dawned to him. Arcturus wouldn’t grant him permission, unless he revealed _his_ motives, or at least enough of them to appease his grandfather.

He remained silent, thinking, as the moment stretched. The old man let him. Similar to Regulus he wouldn’t rush things unnecessarily. “I feel… incomplete. Something is missing” he finally managed, shrugging. “That something… is him.”

Oh tread carefully, he reminded himself, then. He may have already revealed too much, yet Arcturus only watched him, not quite smiling. “You say, he is… as light as they get, yet, it’s a dark rite.”

Regulus looked down. “I know. One can hope. I wouldn’t even try, without your consent.”

For a change, his grandfather didn’t correct his focus, just sat there, aside him. “You will go to the train from here. Don’t return to them. My influence goes only so far at the moment. And when the time comes, be sure, you do the right thing. It is irreversible.”

As much of an approval as he would ever get. He thanked Arcturus for his time and took his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt, Tris deserved something... I hope, he doesn't feel like a Mary-Sue now, because I kind of implement him into this... But I think, by now he has a serious (haha) connection to the Order and the Marauders, so I hope I didn't overdo it. If you feel different, let me know... I hate to fall into trope traps.


	33. A house divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the summer's events Tristan and Regulus can't reconcile. They can't stay away from each other either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't nice. Not at all. No triggers, but I had a very hard time writing it. It hurt.

Like last time Tristan waited at the platform for Regulus. Unlike last time, he did not go with him to the Slytherin dungeon. He waited with him, until they were the only ones left, the majority of students floating by, Regulus and him two lonely islands in an ocean of ignorance.

He could see the indifferent mask crack in his lover’s face; see how the composure grew desperate and frail. There was no way to console him, no way to lessen the blow he needed to deal. “You reek of death” he simply stated, once they were alone. He didn’t bother hiding the signs of distress, biting his lips and inside of his cheek, letting his gaze roam everywhere, instead on focusing on Regulus’ face.

“You… leave.” Regulus fought a losing battle to sound unfazed.

“No. I need time, to find out, what I want. If I… am still capable of being with you.” His hands shook now, his restraint not to touch Regulus’ skin wavered. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the comforts of their shared limbus. The in between the frontlines, the nowhere, the place, where they were still possible. But he couldn’t.

“D’y’still love me?” Regulus grinded out, not allowing tears to fall.

Tristan sighed. “Don’t make it even harder.” Just for a split second he raised his hand, as to touch, offering the only thing left, the one thing, he didn’t want to say. “I still love you. I always will.” Then he ran. He couldn’t stay, or he would lose himself, he would fall, he would betray his resolve, his determination, his belief. Despite the stains of death, clinging to Regulus.

\----

Respect came in many forms. In the way, no one bothered him, or asked him about the reddened eyes. In the way, they made space for him at the Ravenclaw table, leaving enough of the good things from the feast, despite him having no hunger at all.

In how no one even beat an eye, when he took possession of his bed in the Ravenclaw tower. Even in the way, Regulus avoided him over the next days, trying to yield to his wishes. So much fucking respect. If only respect had been, what he was after.

He took it, though, meeting no one’s eyes, retreating behind closed curtains, as soon as possible. He couldn’t ward them, couldn’t silence them either, but it didn’t matter: he was used to silent crying. And if the bed shook a little under his sobs, well, there were always other, equally awkward explanations. No one would dare ask.

\----

Blacks were in control. Blacks didn’t do such pathetic things as cry themselves to sleep, having consolation sex with nameless girls or daydreaming of better times. Didn’t they? They most certainly did not long silently, they took action, they seized, what was theirs, they fought.

And yet.

When he looked down on his hands, Regulus could almost see what Tristan saw. Blood. Death. Torture. From these hands. Emptiness eating away his soul, slowly dissolving the person worthy of the love, he had to give.

Always could be a very long time, when one didn’t look to closely. But always became very short, when one realized, that Tris would always love that Regulus, over there, just behind the curtain of a few months, the one who wasn’t a murderer, the one, who had taken the Mark only to protect him, the one, still… real. Alive.

Always shrank to nothing, when he realized, he had ceased to be that person every day a little more. When he understood that the only way to get Tristan back, was to track his own footsteps back to the point, where he lost his path and start anew from there. If this was even possible.

He had always admired Tristan’s perception. Now it was as much of a curse as a blessing, for it meant, he had received his warning, but it also meant, he had to figure it out alone, Tristan would not be by his side, he wouldn’t be able to stand it.

He held on a whole week, until he understood, he couldn’t do it. He could stand not touching, not sleeping by his side, not feeling the familiar presence in his room. He couldn’t stand not talking. It was too much to ask. He needed his wisdom, his guidance, if he ever even dared to dream of coming back to himself. So he… asked. Pleaded. Begged.

What counted his newfound humbleness before the only one, who mattered, in comparison with the humiliation he had wordlessly endured from the Dark Lord? The truth was: everything. It was the hardest thing, he had ever done. Even approaching Tristan hurt. Asking for forgiveness, or even a chance to talk was… near impossible. He had to do it still.

Because he couldn’t care less about the inner musings of the Dark Lord, as long as he left him alone, but he cared everything about Tris. And so, he couldn’t help but sag visibly, when the not so little anymore said: “Fine. Once a week, old history classroom after dinner. Pick the day. I’ll let you know, when I can’t come. Don’t expect much upfront though.” It was meant to sound professional. It didn’t. Tristan hurt. At least as much as he did. And still found it in him, to give him some comfort. He valued it.

\----

“Professor Slughorn.” The old man with the almost femininely soft hands and the very unfemininely harsh smile caught him in Hogsmeade, where he went to pick up a parcel of his favorite drink, not freely available in most wizarding businesses. “I’d like to buy you a drink, if you please.”

Surely, one drink couldn’t hurt, couldn’t it? Slughorn sighed. If he didn’t agree, they would find other ways to talk to him… and sitting in a public place with a good glass and just listen seemed quite pleasant, in that regard. So he nodded, and let the other lead the way.

“I didn’t think you would still travel, and all the way to Hogwarts, no less, Mr. Ascolip” he stated carefully measured. “One doesn’t get younger, right?”

The famed healer smiled thin-lipped and settled for a table at the Hogshead, out of direct sight from the door. “It depends. If it’s worth it” he answered enigmatically and added: “Tell me about him.”

Slughorn knew, playing dumb would make him appear only weaker and settled instead on ordering his drink to gain some time to think. Then, he objected: “I don’t think, this is a good idea. He is my student, after all. Under protection from the school. And of an influential family.”

The healer eyed him blankly, waiting for Slughorn to talk himself into trouble. But the professor wasn’t drunk yet and refused to continue, so the healer finally did. “A family, who, as far as we have been informed isn’t very supportive on his behalf. I doubt their interference. As for the school… how old is he?”

“Sixteen now” Slughorn grinded out. “Just started his sixth year.” He would fight for each detail tooth and nail.

“He won’t finish. They usually don’t. We… offer to provide.” Ascolip folded his hands calmly and sighed. “Despite your beliefs, this is not a deal with the devil. No virgin sacrifice, no obscure ritual, no… I don’t know… slavery?” He chuckled.

“They?” Slughorn asked nervously, unsure, what to make of it.

The healer leaned forward, his eyes suddenly flashing. “What do you think? A failure, unable to perform even basic spells in most areas, incapable even of self-defense… in danger of being marked a Squib…” He seemed inexplicably angry now.

“Then… why do you want him at all?” Slughorn growled. “Why not let him stay, where he is safe?”

“Could you guarantee his safety? Really? A year, two even wouldn’t make a difference to us. His death however…”

Slughorn decided, he had enough. “Unless you provide _me_ with some answers, this little conversation is over.” But when he rose, the old man held him back.

“Most cores are similar. A slight talent in this or that direction, yet capable to perform any magic, given the right training. Truly light or dark wizards and witches are… somewhat rarer, but not unheard of.” Ascolip stared up to Slughorn expectantly and his lips twitched.

Abruptly Slughorn sat back down and stared back. The healer didn’t elaborate, but he wasn’t an idiot. He would have to be a really exceptional talent for them to want him. The question was: was it a good idea? Or would it condemn the boy to a life of… well, in the end, Slughorn had no idea, what Mr. Ascolip tended to expect in return for an apprenticeship. He had never heard of any apprentice before. The healers had kept it strictly in the family for generations. He didn’t ask though, he couldn’t expect an honest answer to that.

But the healer surprised him at least some, adding, with a little nervous flicker: “He needs to stop, what he is doing though.”

Slughorn stared now, almost unblinkingly. “What _is_ he doing then?”

Ascolip remained silent for so long, Slughorn already felt ignored, readied himself once more to leave, before he finally sighed. “He’s accidentally been forming not one but two strong instinctive emotional bonds via sacrificial magic. He gets… attached. Which is unhealthy, in this… occupation.”

And there Slughorn was, thinking naively, he couldn’t get any _more_ shocked. How short-sighted. Now, the facts hit him right in the face. Sacrificial magic. Bonds. A unique relationship. Tristan and Regulus. Tristan and Regulus. The only open question was: who was the other bond?

\----

Tristan wasn’t sure, if he should admire Travers’ persistence or laugh about his stupidity. Falling for the same trap twice. For a moment he considered, letting Regulus deal with it, as he without even the slightest doubt would. But then again… Tristan wanted him to step back, not to fall deeper into the darkness. Better not to tempt him so blatantly.

He would deal with it, not Regulus, he was not the same as two years ago, or even one. He let Travers watch him for a while, playing oblivious, playing dumb. He let himself get caught in the corridors alone. He even let Travers feel, like he had the upper hand, pinning him against the wall, wand already in hand.

Only, when Travers bend down to catch his lips, rob his mouth, he coldly uttered: “I’d advise you not to.” His voice remained as cold as icy rain, unfolding a similar effect.

Travers startled, jerked back, irritated. “You can shove your advice” he growled, but insecurity was clearly vibrating in his words.

Tristan smiled, eyes as cold as his words. “This is what will happen. You touch me, he kills you. Simple. That’s if you are lucky.”

“You are out of luck” the older, but more immature boy cried out. “Everyone knows, everyone has seen, he ignores you.”

It was so laughable. So pathetic. “And isn’t that telling, stupid. But as I said… this is, if you are lucky. If you aren’t… Let me spell it out for you, you seem to depend on it. I have worked in the Infirmary for two years. Every Quidditch player, every fan, every older brother, everyone who got hurt in those years talked to me. And I to them. You try to hurt me, you don’t live another happy day. And I don’t even need a wand for that.” It felt a bit too much.

On the other hand… Travers hadn’t learned his lesson on the first run.

Tristan removed his hands very carefully, before straightening the other boy’s robes out. “I will pretend, this didn’t happen.” With just a hint of smirking, he went, leaving Travers dumbfounded.

At the end of the corridor he looked back to where Travers still stood and knew, never again would he need someone else’s protection. He played the game to well by now.

Part of him wished, he didn’t. Part of him wished to flee back under Regulus’ wing, having an excuse to forget about the strange sensations he felt, when he first saw him again. About whatever it was, that had him changed so much, he simply accepted Tristan’s rejection. That he felt guilty enough not to fight back.

\----

The way, Tristan sat alone, while he waited for him, told Regulus, things had changed. He didn’t use a chair, sat on the top of a desk instead, knees pulled to the body, elbows on top, the head hanging, covered with his hands. If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed, he was the one to call it off, and Tris the one to want him back.

Why had everything always to be so complicated? Reluctantly he stepped into the room and sat on another desk, close by, leaning forward slightly. For a while, he didn’t do anything else. It wasn’t as if silence between them would ever been awkward again. In a way, it felt even comfortable, as if everything was still ok, or could be at least.

Maybe it meant something that Tristan didn’t push him, although he had asked him for this talk? Maybe he missed him just as much, wanted his proximity, and longed for his touch? He still had to start somewhere. If he ever wanted to get anything ever again.

“Tris… I understand… I really get it.” He hesitated, feeling embarrassed by his loss of words. “I just want to know, what I need to do…”

Tristan’s silvery eyes pinned him down, bearing a sadness so unfitting to that still incredibly young face. “You can’t. This is no longer about you. It’s about me, figuring out, if and how I can… reconcile. Understand. Disregard.” His eyes were watery already, though the voice remained strong and clear.

Regulus closed his eyes, threw his head back and just breathed. This was even worse than he had imagined. “I miss you. I love you. It… it hurts.” Offering so much vulnerability felt bad. Not doing it, would have been worse. He wanted, needed a little hope.

When Regulus looked back to him, Tris’ face was covered with long streaks of tears, the drops falling unnoticed. “I know.” He sniffed, suddenly breaking.

“I want nothing more than to simply forget about the summer, about the war, about what you have done, and I have done and all the world. I want nothing more, than to turn my back on this day and this year, head back to our safe haven, our perfect little year. Even though I felt weak and helpless, I also felt safe. With you. I am neither weak nor helpless anymore. I am… more of an adult than most boys in your year. But I don’t feel safe anymore. Not even with you. Right now, especially not with you.”

Then he sobbed, his whole body heaving in something worse than mere agony. “Yet, I still love you.”

“Will…” Regulus voice broke and he needed to start anew. “Will you let me touch you?” On the smallest of nods, he pulled Tristan into his embrace and held him, for a very long time, unable to let go, unable to stop his own tears, unable to dissolve the rift between them, unable to accept it either.

“I am stupid, am I?” he whispered into Tristan’s ear. “I should have listened to you.” It didn’t need an answer. He didn’t expect one.

\----

They met every week. Only for an hour or two. Every single time, they tried to keep their distance. Every single time someone would cry. Every single time they failed to keep their hands of each other. Merlin alone knew, why they bothered. They should have just started from there.

It was at the same time intensely freeing and unbearably hard. Freeing, to let go of everything, of their beliefs, their loyalties, everything but themselves. Hard, because it would end. Inevitably the time would be up, something or the other would disturb them or get in the way.

But if the world was against that, if it wasn’t meant, if Regulus was really beyond redemption, why did it still feel so damn right? Why did Tristan still care? Why didn’t he just… stop, when it hurt him so badly? But he didn’t. Unfailingly he continued to torture himself on Regulus’ behalf.

Sometimes, he the younger Black brother wished, he had the strength to stop it. To stay away. Not to ask anymore. But even the thought of not seeing him anymore cramped his guts more than even the sight of the Dark Lord.

If this was love, why in all wizards’ sake did it hurt so much? And if it wasn’t… why _did_ he feel better, despite the embarrassing tears, despite the weaknesses and vulnerabilities? He didn’t have any more answers, than when he had talked to his grandfather, a meeting, whose whole purpose right now seemed rather obsolete. Unless…

He couldn’t take back, what he had done. He couldn’t resist the Dark Lord in his proximity either. He had to find his own path. A step back. It had to be well prepared, lest he ended like so many others - dead. And if he could sabotage that bastard on his way out… all the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for you harmony lovers, there is more of this stuff, before they find back to each other...


	34. Dance in circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Regulus try to keep their distance and fail in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news first: yesterday was the first day, I couldn't keep up my writing schedule due to work, I was just too tired. I still have ideas and fun, I just couldn't bring myself to make them work.   
> But, good news, I am still like 4 chapters ahead, so not yet changing the update schedule.

They really tried their best, now, didn’t they? Sitting back to back, not looking at each other, while talking, not really about anything, because the important questions were covered by too many secrets, too many things, neither of them wanted to share or to know.

And still, all by itself, his hand wandered back, until it found Regulus’, his fingertips running softly along the stronger lines of the other’s hands. Almost on instinct he leaned back, until they touched, from the small of their back to the back of their heads.

They tried so hard, why wouldn’t it stick? Why couldn’t they just let go? “Listen…” he tried. “We can’t do this anymore. Someone sees us either of us is in a pinch.”

Regulus turned, planting soft kisses along his hairline. “I don’t care. If it was up to me…” He stopped. “In what pinch would you be?” He was sincerely concerned.

“You think cuddling with someone marked goes well with…” Tristan had no idea, how not to be obvious, so he didn’t even try. “I depend on trust.”

He could feel Regulus’ heart sink, as his breath haunted over his nape. “And not on me, anymore…” Trust was a fickle thing, though. For example, he didn’t hesitate even a little, when Regulus closed his arms around him and pulled him against his chest. “I don’t think anyone would care about me having you around… I could always argue, you were there before and I tried to sway you.” He chuckled softly, burying a suspiciously damp face into Tristan’s shoulder. “As if.”

He pretended very hard not to notice. “You are wrong though.” Blindly he reached up to Regulus face, until his hand rested on the older boy’s cheek. “I do depend on you. If I didn’t… It’s just different. Than it was.” He rambled, he knew. He didn’t know, what he aimed for himself. It was just too complicated to fully analyze, but it was true none the less. Denying himself the presence of Regulus for too long, when he could have it, made him restless and irritable. On the other hand… getting too close made him feel dirty. Cheap. As if his beliefs didn’t count. Almost angry he got up, brought some distance between them. “I have to go.”

Regulus didn’t hold him back. It was complicated.

\----

Regulus felt numb. He understood Tristan much better now. Schoolwork seemed unimportant. Insignificant. Pathetic. Only a small delay for the things really going on in his life. His whole week was condensed into two to three moments of real importance. The moment, the owls came, hoping, none would come to him. The moment, he could first touch Tris, jolts of pure joy flickering through his fingertips. The moment, he saw the Ravenclaw leave early from another meal, not to return until the next day, even missing classes, at times.

It was terrible. For him, school was an escape, a haven of safety for his soul even more than his body, if a short-lived one. For Tristan… what did he do? Where did he go? When would he return? Would he eventually? At all? Each time, he noticed, he burned in a mixture of dread and sorrow and love and unnamed, unnameable fear.

Those were the things that mattered now, while lessons and homework and even the Slughorn-meetings went by in a blur, barely noticed, barely there. Life was a stop and go, a sequence of pearls on a string, with long empty passages in between. And every pearl was a seed of pure pain. Loss. Grief. Terror. Longing.

When he didn’t control them, his hands were shaking, the fingers fumbling and weak. Tears were creeping up, unexpectedly in the least opportune moments. The strangest thing though, the strangest thing was that he needed to count it as a good sign.

He still could feel something other than hatred. He was not yet lost. There might be, no, there _had to_ be a way back to Tristan’s side. There was an unseen thread, flimsy and weak, but there, floating in between them, connecting them, leading him all the way back to the one truly innocent thing in his life.

He could not lose that. Could not let it flicker away, could not allow it to be cut. He needed the oath. It was meant to safe Tris. Now it was the only way to safe him. If only… If only…

If only he could talk to Tris. Tell him. Convince him. If only he could get clean enough to make him consider…

\----

“Dear colleagues, I understand your concerns, but there is little reason to that” Dumbledore’s voice carried over the whole room of teachers. It had been him, who had called for this full conference of all staff of Hogwarts (excluding a few guardians, who would be informed later), but he seemed not very likely to really address the problems, that lately plagued most of them.

That was nothing new though to Septima Vektor. Dumbledore had seldom taken direct action. He wasn’t called “the old meddler” for nothing.

She similarly tended to keep her thoughts to herself, watch carefully, say little and act only, when well informed and thought through. She didn’t pick sides either, for to be truly a focal point, you had to be available for all and every student, you were not allowed to judge, you had to remain neutral.

But. And this was a big, no, enormous but: more and more of the advanced students left their lives, their chances, their very future behind on behalf of this seemingly unavoidable conflict. They did not necessarily leave school altogether, but they started to slip, to invest less and less into their preparation, in short, to be absent, no matter, if their bodies remained.

Light, dark, good, evil. Titles and prejudices. Starting in ill-willed bad-mouthing, rumors, now getting out of hand and resulting in outright torture and murder. In a world, where every life was precious, every magic-wielder was scarce. In a world on the brink of destruction that could not afford to lose any more of its inhabitants. It was time for Dumbledore to understand, they could no longer close their eyes and ignore the issue. At the very least, they had to keep their student body safe. And if taking their responsibility seriously, they had to make sure too, those in their care wouldn’t be forced to get involved.

Yet, Septima didn’t speak out. She had placed her information well, had others speak her mind, declaring the back and forth, she had played out, allowing her to continue in the middleground and see the play progress.

Madam Pomphrey, always so caring, playing the role of the good mother. Professor Slughorn, an advocatus diaboli, questioning each and every plan, due to his reluctance to place even one toe into danger. Argus Filch, dismissing the topic altogether, on the base of: “those pesky children don’t deserve it any better.” Petrino Tolus, this year’s Defence against Dark Arts and a passing voice, strongly suggesting to arm the poor children. Cowboy American. Really, ridiculous.

Unfortunately, voices were missing. No one speak up for those dark bigoted forces that slowly and inevitably stretched their influence even into these sacred walls. No one dared, yet it would have been so necessary. To unite against an opponent, there had to be one, clearly visible, despicable and dangerous. The subtle threat hanging over their heads was more likely to subdue the wizards than force them into action.

Frustrated Septima clicked her tongue and turned away. Indeed, it would depend on those poor souls in their care, for they were clearly unfit to fight this very battle. And if even the brightest heads of their generation, tasked to teach the children better ways, looked feebly, who more so would the public. Infuriating.

As she went, Slughorn stepped in her way. “Could we have a talk?”

She raised an eyebrow in perfect imitation of the so common pure-blood gesture. “If need be. Lead the way.” It was hard to always be referee not only between the students and even teachers, but also in their internal battles. Yet… Slughorn’s battles were usually interesting to say the least. And informative.

\----

“I can’t come.” A single note, barely two hours before their meeting. Regulus heart sank. It was unlikely, Tristan would deny him on his own. Not like that. He took his time to decide, as he had learned thoroughly and acted then accordingly and proper. Inconveniencing someone like that would not happen on his own.

This could only mean one thing. External influence. He would be out there again. Alone. Again. Nothing for Regulus to do. If they got him now, he wouldn’t even know, wouldn’t even find out. Tris would be dead and he would wait and wait and wait, never being sure. Burning in lost hope, while it was already over. He could only take so much. It needed to change; he needed to know, no matter how, no matter at what price for himself.

As much for distraction as in search for arguments he went into the library, strode over to the restricted section, scanning for books, which might include information whilst being inconspicuous enough, he wouldn’t be disturbed reading them.

\----

“Oh god, try harder, she’s dying!” “I can’t stop the bleeding.” “It’s too late, don’t bother, go right to the next.” “They are dead.”

It had been a massacre. For the first time, they had arrived in time for a real battle. And for the first time, Tristan had been there, before the dust settled. Dozens of victims, muggles, their eyes wide from terror and lack of comprehension. Later the Order, many of the members he saw for the first time. Saw their distrust, confusion, pity. He didn’t bother reacting. He treated them at his best; he continued to stay clear awake, as long as it took.

A man named Redfern, a muggleborn, escorted him back to Hogwarts and from the headmaster office to the infirmary. Dumbledore had sent him to his bed in the Ravenclaw tower, but Tristan knew better. When he went down, when he started to sleep, he couldn’t cope with disturbance any more. Any interruption could and most likely would kill him. There was no place safe, but under Madam Pomphrey’s good care.

He didn’t give more than a short goodbye to his silent guardian, then explained to the nurse as fast as he could. The burden of sleep already weighed him down, so hard, he didn’t undress, before he lay down. Closing his eyes and giving in had never felt so good.

\----

Tris had missed breakfast. He had missed classes. He had missed lunch too. It wasn’t until Regulus went to Madam Pomphrey to demand some answers that he found out, the younger Malfoy had returned at all. Silently she had gestured toward the closed curtains of a separate compartment and made him promised not to disturb him in any way, not talking, not touching, nothing, before she had allowed him to even have a look.

He drew the curtains and slipped in silently, sitting down on the chair beside the bed, before he allowed himself to watch closely. Tristan was pale, but that was no indication, other than that he was still a Malfoy. He was _always_ pale. There were dark shadows around his eyes, but that wasn’t news either. He didn’t seem hurt, but it was hard to say, with the blanket pulled high and no way to move it.

His breath was deep, his sleep as undisturbed as Regulus had ever seen it. Not even a slight frown in his face, not even the shadow of fear or grief or guilt. It would have been beautiful, if it hadn’t been so worrying.

Reluctantly Regulus placed a hand close to his face, just to feel the tickle of air, just to reassure himself that yes, indeed, Tris was still very much alive. He didn’t stay for long, though; Tristan would need things, when he woke up. And although Tris might not think, he should or would still care, he could not help it. He found some Ravenclaw from his lover’s year to bully into bringing him what was needed from Tristan’s trunk. In addition, he got something from his stock of sweets, he knew, Tris would like. He placed both in the infirmary in Madam Pomphrey’s care and promised to come back the next day. Or threatened. He wasn’t sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Regulus starts to look a little OOC keep in mind, that there IS a reason for this... two reasons, actually. Have no worries, he will come back to his sarcastic, plotting, somewhat devious self soon enough... only not, when it comes to Tristan, he has definitely lost on that front ;)


	35. How the mighty have fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus attempts desperate measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update, I had social contact yesterday... That is so unique these days, I simply forgot to update... ;)  
> Sad thing is, thanks to Corona this is only half a joke...   
> I am still more or less in my schedule, so there is that... I will hopefully make up with a second update this evening.

Two days. 48 damn miserable hours. That was, how long it took Tristan to wake up. Regulus had ignored homework, had skipped meals, even classes, when he could get away with it, just to be there, when he would eventually wake up. Only to doze off at the bedside and find his hand caught entwined with pale, slender but firm fingers, when he woke up again to Madam Pomphrey entering.

“Time to go, Mr. Black” she singsonged cheerily and a bit pitifully.

He tried to remove his hand carefully, only to realize, he couldn’t. Whenever he pulled away, however cautiously, the fingers tightened around his, until he gave up, shrugging at the nurse. “I fear, this could be difficult.”

Madam Pomphrey followed his eyes and noticed the joined hands, frowning slightly. “Didn’t I tell you, not to disturb in any way?”

He shrugged once more. “Actually, I didn’t… I woke up like that.” With the a little overly caring nurse it was easy to play apologetic.

As anticipated she accepted it without much fuss and suggested: “Then I better bring you something to eat, you missed dinner. Again. And then, we figure out, what to do about your night.” With that, she left, so he could stay behind in silence.

When even the echos of her steps had died down, he felt Tris gaze, without even turning. Maybe it was the deeper breathing, or the slight movement of the fingers… No matter, though, he looked down to find grey eyes searching for his.

“I missed you” he announced, carefully avoiding any inkling of the underlying feelings. “I was concerned.” More like, ‘I was scared to death’, but it wouldn’t fit a Black to admit that.

Tris smiled, unwilling to move just yet. “No need to… I just had… things to do… Some sleep to catch. How long?”

“You don’t know?” he snapped, his anger flaring fueled by fear.

Tristan didn’t pay it any mind. “I could only guess. It would take how long it took.”

‘And you didn’t take a single thought of what it would make of me’, was right there, for a second. He didn’t say it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. However… “I can’t go on like this. Watching out every second for you to disappear. Never knowing, what’s going on. If you are ok, if you are hurt, if you are… dead.”

Tris hesitated, his treasonous signs of nervosity all there, as he bit his tongue and looked down. “So… the necessity of distance is… mutual now?” How carefully phrased…

Regulus shook his head firmly. “On the contrary. I know, I can’t control you. I won’t try. But…” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want to swear the Blood oath with you.”

His lover’s eyes snapped wide open, as his hand shot towards Regulus’ wrist and wrapped almost painfully hard around it. The pure intensity was something, he wouldn’t have been capable last year this time. He was stronger than he looked, stronger than he had been by far. “What? That’s… you can’t mean that.”

Regulus sighed. “I mean it. Enough, to talk to Lord Black and gain his permission.”

To that, Tristan stared and would have continued for quite a while, if Madam Pomphrey hadn’t been back, announcing her presence with a fond: “Ah, perfect. Then you can eat both and return to your dorms, thereafter. I will give you permission, in case you encounter Mr. Filch.”

Then placed a tray between them and left them alone again, well aware, they wouldn’t continue to speak until they were very sure, she was completely gone. They started eating in silence, Tris obviously hungry and even more obviously out of words.

“I read about it. It’s… you can’t be forced or coerced to reveal the other’s secrets. You can feel his well-being. Some say, you might even be able to locate him.”

Tris sighed. “That’s a bit simple.” He also had read about it. In Moody’s book. “The legal aspects alone. I would count as much a Black as you. I could speak in your name, even sign binding contracts. There’s a lot of trust needed in this alone. And it’s only the start.”

“What more? I don’t care.” Regulus clenched his jaw determinedly.

“I am not sure. It is rare. Some say, you lose the ability to love, when your bonded partner is killed. Some say, you follow within year's turn, some say, immediately.” Tristan grew continuously more agitated. “You essentially sign up to die with me. You can’t want that.”

“At least, I would know, what happens to you” Regulus countered. “I would feel it.” He all but barked the last words out.

Tris shook his head and sighed. “Everything else aside, this is a dark ritual, and a demanding one. We botch it, we die. And there are lots of ways, to botch it.”

Now it was Regulus turn to stare. “You know, how it’s done? I couldn’t find that… yet.” That cheeky little scoundrel.

Tristan grumbled: “I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Now you feel only reassured…” On Regulus shrug he nodded. “I will tell you exactly why it won’t work and we shouldn’t even attempt it.”

“First of all, such trust doesn’t even exist. That is, why hardly anyone even talks about it. You need to share… everything.” He raised his pinky for accentuation. “Second…” The next finger followed. “We need to come as equals. When have we ever been equals?”

“Always” Regulus growled, not sure, why he was angry about it, or at whom.

Tristan let it slip and continued: “Third, we have to be worthy. And I haven’t even figured out yet, what worthy means in this context. Fourth, the ritual is dark, but it doesn’t work without both participants being able to perform light magic. I guess, because of the willingness to give something of yourself. And fifth…” he raised the final finger and closed them all at once again. “It is performed with lifeblood. It cuts _deep_. Without a ritual guardian to save us, when we fail, we just bleed to death.”

“Not the worst death…” Regulus joked to cover up his confusion. How and why did Tristan learn such? And when did he get so secure, he could make a perfectly coherent argument? Not, that it would sway Regulus. He would remain stubbornly fixed, knowing, he had no other choice.

Tristan nodded, softly, sadly, taking Regulus hands in his own and stroking them with his thumbs. “But a death nonetheless.”

\----

Regulus wouldn’t let go of his hands, when they stood by the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower. He had never been one fond of public display, even when the public was only an empty corridor, so this was alarming. “Think about it” he demanded urgently. “What we are. What we could be.”

Tristan would have liked nothing more than accept, or at least, to let himself get lead away, down to the dungeons into the safe and warm space of Regulus’ room, Regulus’ bed. It would be so easy. His resolve had grown thin, threadbare…

But just now, it was even more important than at any other time. If he truly wanted Regulus back, he had to make sure, he understood. That he needed to work for it. Not for Tristan’s forgiveness. He had that, any time he wanted. For his redemption. For forgiving himself. For growing into a better man.

Without that, continuing his path, no oath, no ritual, no love would save him. And Tristan would go down with him. One way or the other.

So, very carefully, he removed himself from the older boy. “I love you, Regulus. Enough, not to give up now.”

The younger Black brother nodded disappointedly. “I know, what you think. It’s just… I don’t know, what you want me to do. I… can’t take it back, I can’t make it undone.”

Tristan felt his face clenching up in grief. “It’s not, what you do or don’t. You have to let go of him. That.” His fingertips brushed the Mark. “You can be good; you have it still in you.”

Slowly, deliberately, ready to let go on the slightest sign of resistance, Regulus took his hands, pinned them with his own behind their bodies and kissed him, full of desperate, almost feral hunger. “You are my other half, Tris… I can’t find my way back without you.” Reality fell away, when he let go of Tristan’s hands, instead planting them on his waistline. “I swear, Tris. You have me pleading. Begging. Blacks don’t beg. Never. Yet… here we are.” Breathing heavily, the face twitching with too much emotion to hide it all, he got down to his knees, his forehead pressed against Tristan’s chest and stomach all the way down. “Please, Tris. I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t even try to look up; he just remained, bowed down, hands and head in close contact, crushed from desperation.

It was too much. Simply too much. Tristan fell to his knees too, awkwardly confined by his lover’s body and kissed him, again and again, on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead, the temple, everywhere really. “I am here, Regulus. I always will be. You need to get out. It destroys you. I can’t help you like that. Not as long as they… as they have you.”

Regulus said nothing anymore, only held onto him. Tristan cared a fuck about time, about the public corridor, about having school tomorrow. He held him, kissed him, whispered to him. Only, when Regulus got up on his own, he took his hand. “Come I bring you.” He would stay for this night.

\----

For the first time in the new term, no since the end of the old term, Regulus didn’t hate himself, when he woke up. It was strange to find his body surrounded with warmth, usually he did the holding, but it was nice. No… not nice. It was comfortable, reassuring, incredibly close. Not for the first time he thanked all their shared ancestors, they had managed not to make Tris a morning person. He never woke up before Regulus, granting him some respite, before he had to face the end of this truly perfect moment. Granting him time to think.

Tristan was right. He needed a way out. He had realized earlier, but his thoughts had never been clear enough to figure it out. Not like now, not like in the safety of this one safe haven in the world. Not without the crushing pressure of fear and shame and empty hope and unsatisfiable expectations. Here, he could recount the facts. Here, he could understand.

He was hardly number one on the Dark Lord’s list. He wasn’t important in the big picture of things. And that monster sent followers to death every day. What if… Regulus Black, death eater, died a merciful death as an unfortunate loss, instead of the much less preferable death as a traitor? Would the Dark Lord even care? Would he even bother to look closely? Would he try to call him back to his side? Or would he see his mission to ruin the Great and Noble House of Black as fulfilled, as long as Bellatrix remained by his side? It was hard to tell.

But if so, albeit requiring good planning, it was the escape he needed. It would mean hiding, until this wretched war ended, until the Dark Lord fell. Or until forever, if the world was truly cruel and let that monster prevail.

It was his best shot. The only question… would Tris accept that? Accept him? With all his weaknesses? Would he live this horrible life in hiding? He deserved better, and still, no matter, how much he wished that better something for him, he hoped, the younger Malfoy would remain.

And even if not, wouldn’t it still be worth it? Just to make sure, Tris was safe?

This clear head thing was really starting to get difficult and complicated in its own right, but before he could wind himself up into questioning everything, grey eyes opened and tethered him back to the moment.

“Merlin, in direct comparison Slytherin _get_ the better beds.”

It was definitely not the statement he had expected and it had him laughing helplessly, while he moved up, putting a trail of kisses on Tristan’s skin, until he could have his mouth. “Mine” he mumbled and dove in, entwining hands and lips and legs and everything with his smaller counterpart. “Mine. Mine. Mine” he echoed again and again and again, knowing, Tristan knew, this wasn’t about possession, but devotion.

Taunting just slightly unhappily, Tris reminded: “It’s school day. I don’t know about you, but I have classes.” That little Grinch.

Oh damn, he was turning into Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure, if it is obvious enough, why Regulus is so desperate... I planted the hints, but I am not sure, if they can be understood. Please let me know, what you think.


	36. Thunder rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life doesn't get easier, just because you reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, after the belated yesterday's update, another one for today...   
> I am happy, I manage to keep ahead, and we are a week in the new job... yay...

Regulus didn’t know, what hit him worse after a long day of school, when he didn’t exactly see the point anymore. The fact, that after yesterday’s respite, Tristan once again kept his careful distance, or that just today, the necessity of it hit him right in the guts.

Of course he had been aware, there were others with the Mark among Hogwarts’ students. He knew most of them, one way or the other. He hadn’t known, however, that one among them had his parents living in Hogsmeade, giving him ample excuse of coming and going through the wards, without many questions asked.

He was but a glorified… scratch that. He _was_ just a delivery boy, but he was inconvenient, for he allowed the Dark Lord to spy directly within the school. There was no way, he didn’t know of Tristan’s strange disappearances and streaks of exhaustion.

Sometime soon he would understand, what that meant and then, all Regulus could hope for, was to find out in time, the deatheaters were about to take action within the boundaries of the school. He didn’t delude himself with the hopethey wouldn’t go after someone so small as Tris. The Dark Lord was nothing, if not vengeful. Even the slightest opposition was answered with cruelty and determination.

No one was safe, nothing sacred in the eyes of that madman… And a big “told you so” hit Regulus right in the face. Ironic, how everything he had believed so firmly turned to ashes: that Tristan relied on him, not the other way around, that winning this war was preferable and now, too, that he had everything firmly under control.

Right now, he couldn’t even control himself. It was most certainly the wisest way to stay away from his lover and not to resist the obvious sacrifice. He just… couldn’t. The need to touch him, feel him, at the very least talk to him, was overwhelming. He saw it clearly now. Even in silence, Tristan’s morality, his kindness, his very being rubbed off on him in the best possible way and helped him be himself again, and not a slave to the Mark. It was his tether to reality, to the light, to everything worth having. Without him, Regulus felt suffocated and freezing to death.

He had to tell him. He had to… In the end, there was no way around the oath. If they couldn’t be together, if they had to act independently to get out of this mess alive, they had to know of each other. Had to feel each other. Every risk on the way to this perfect understanding was worth taking. Every argument against it just a hurdle to be jumped. He wouldn’t let fear hold him back again. It had almost led to him not only losing Tristan but losing himself along the way, too.

\----

One of his letters had him flinching on first reading of the letter, almost scared to death, but, rereading it, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

_Dear serpent,_

_I swear, you have cursed the pup!_

_He won’t sleep unless I sing him one of those awful little songs of yours. They are tooth-rottingly sweet and childish and turn my brain to mush. Shame on you and your future kids, may they be just as active as the pup. You deserve that and more!_

_By the way, have a picture of the little one, he grows so fast… Prongs sends his regards._

_Love_

_Host_

The photo, shrunk as tiny as he could manage was safely tucked away in his trunk with the others, so he could have a look at the kid from time to time. Before his birth, Tristan had thought, all babies looked more or less the same. But Harry… under a small mop of black hair he looked all cheeky and sweet and so unlike every other kid he had ever seen. Maybe, it was just, because this kid, also unlike every other meant something for him.

Unfortunately, the other letter wouldn’t turn out nice in the end. Even the crest on the seal had him on the edge already. Malfoy. He eyed it uneasily, trying to decide, if he even wanted to break it. In the end, what did it matter? Abraxas or Lucius, nothing good would come from either. And he had made enough worse enemies, not to fear his father’s wrath anymore, if he dared disobey. He could really do without being cursed again.

On the other hand… checking he envelope and finding no evidence of maleficent magic, he decided, the knowledge was probably worth the insults, it would pour over him. So he broke the seal reluctantly.

_I daresay, I didn’t think, I would write you again. Neither did I expect to find you disobedient enough, the necessity would arise, nor to find the will in me. But last year your nephew Draco was born by means of one Narcissa Malfoy née Black. The deep involvement of your brother in pure-blood affairs puts his existence at risk. End this childish adventure and I shall find use for your limited capabilities in his protection._

_Lord Malfoy at Malfoy Manor_

He had been right. The information that his brother had a son was certainly valuable, if only to safe the poor child if Lucius managed to get killed. Or to hopefully find a way to help him find his own opinion, instead of being fed the same pure-blood ideology his father had forced on him and Lucius. In a way, he was almost happy, the Malfoy name would be continued without the need for his doing. It took a lot of pressure of his shoulders, he hadn’t realized he still carried.

He envied Lucius not a bit. What he hadn’t anticipated, was, how badly it still hurt, to be seen merely as another measure to provide for the house’s heir. To hold no value of his own in the eyes of the man he had tried to please most of his life. So weak, so insignificant, no incentive other than simple command was needed to make him comply.

After more than two years on his own, he would have thought, he was over with it. Finding, the disappointment still burned hot in his heart, he still cared, was both human and very sad. He could not shed his concerns for even this most unworthy father. And the equally unworthy brother, who probably just now plotted, how to get hold of him and sacrifice him for even the smallest approval from he-who-should-not-be-named.

Maybe it came with caring for Regulus, who after all was a death eater too. If he wasn’t beyond redemption, and last night had reinforced his belief in that, maybe even Lucius as capable – and worth – saving? Even if only for his innocent child? It was idle thought. Lucius wouldn’t thank the sentiment and wouldn’t reciprocate either.

\----

Lucius was pleased. Life had granted him great favors. He was part of the Dark Lord’s inner circle and danced along the edge of his wrath’s volcano most gracefully most days. He was blessed with a wife, who was both strongwilled and intelligent, yet obedient, when it came to things of importance, a wife who had gifted him with the one thing, he truly desired: an heir.

The one hair in his soup remained his inability to get hold of his brother. Not that he feared for the inheritance any more. The little bastard had no claim to that, and with Draco in place he wouldn’t ever get his hands on it.

But his mere existence still carried risk. Lucius didn’t know for sure and prayed to Lady Magic, neither was his Lord, but it seemed, he needed to put an end to him, even against his father’s wishes. To likely the association of this thorn in his flesh with blood-traitors and muggleborns. He had even fallen out of favor with his great and noble protector, one infamous Regulus Black. Funny, how times changed.

It would be easy though. Once captured, Tristan could offer no resistance, and Lucius had to hesitate just long enough to interfere, before he met the fate he dearly deserved. Nothing so simple as the killing curse, if Lucius could arrange for it though. It wouldn’t repay two years of constant mocking his elder rights.

Greyback’s attention maybe. Or Bellatrix. The Lord himself seemed tempting, but on the other hand… Tristan still knew too many of Lucius’ dirty secrets. Secrecy was more important than punishment and Voldemort was a talented Legilimens. But first, he needed to get hold of him. And what better time than Christmas, when he would almost certainly leave the relative safety of Hogwarts. If only Lucius could slip him a tracking curse. Or catch him, before he reached whatever safety he was running to. Or maybe he needn’t wait until then… A single Hogsmeade visit would do.

\----

Tristan swore. Silently. The little second year, who had run against him at full speed and crashed against the wall with him, really couldn’t be blamed and looked scared enough without him screaming. It really wasn’t his fault, after all, whatever startled him, seemed bad enough and how could he have known, that Tristan still didn’t weigh much more than him?

Hell, without Regulus watching out, his ribs showed again. He simply forgot quite too often, these days. And the damage was done anyways… All the quills broken, the ink spilled, the glass crushed into shards. Resigned he pulled the boy off the ground and sent him on his way, before taking note of all the damage. He probably could rescue the parchment, now, that the ink was still wet, a few cleaning spells should do the trick. The same went for the books. But the rest was more or less beyond repair. He would need to buy new stuff for the weekend, lucky him, he would be allowed to go to Hogsmeade.

Oh, so very lucky indeed. He had just started saving up for his own place. He doubted, he would return to Hogwarts, once Regulus left, so he needed every knut now. This would tear a serious hole into his finances. How many months could he safe up, before he needed to have a job? A serious job, that paid the rent? Without NEWTs, without apprenticeship, without experience… He swore again, this time louder, searching for some place to dumb the rubbish, as his vanishing spells were about as good as his hexes…

\----

Regulus strolled over to Honeydukes, pondering about the possibilities. He was too old to skip around at the prospect of buying sweets for himself. But the chance of getting Tristan something he might like and couldn’t afford, was quite something else. He had already set out plans on how to smuggle it into the Ravenclaw’s dorm without rising immediate suspicion and couldn’t help but smile, when he caught a movement at the corner of his eye.

It wouldn’t have startled him, there were so many students at Hogsmeade, when it was allowed. But the familiar frame made him question his senses. Tris never went to Hogsmeade, so he wouldn’t be tempted to spent money he didn’t have. He would only ever go, if he needed something urgently. And he hadn’t told him.

To be honest, that didn’t surprise Regulus entirely. He hated to ask for things, it made him feel like he needed charity, an almost unforgiveable crime in even his view, and he didn’t tell Regulus that much of his life anymore anyways. But still…

Frowning, Regulus turned around a few corners to gain another look. Strange. Tristan stood before the small, rather dull shop for school supplies most teachers frequented. Altogether to close by to be comfortable for the smaller boy, stood Amycus Carrow, telling him something, Regulus didn’t quite catch and pulled at his sleeve rather implicative.

When Tris hesitated, he yell-whispered something else, gesturing towards some kids from third year, who just played catch around the fountain at Hogsmeade’s central square. Reluctantly the Malfoy followed Carrow, away from the public places, nervously looking around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little cliff-hanger... Sorry not sorry, it's not that bad ;)


	37. Desperate measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The not so per chance meeting with Amycus Carrow has consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you didn't suffer to much from the little cliffhanger. I try to keep up pace as long as possible, though I had a few slow days now.

“Good boy…” Carrow purred like a pompous cat, needlessly shoving him from time to time to increase his pace. “We wouldn’t want someone to get hurt, would we?”

Tristan growled under his breath. “What do you want? I don’t give favors. And you are not even a student anymore.”

Carrow grinned, pushing him further away from the busy shopping streets. “I don’t intend to earn _your_ favor.” Suddenly his wand was in his hand, while Tristan still calculated his chances for some last-minute attempt to surprise him. “Ah, I wouldn’t, if I were you… I might be tempted to get a little… rougher.” He waved his hand, casting a painful stinging hex.

Tristan breathed in and out slowly, collecting himself, focusing on the possibilities. He remembered everything, Alastor taught him. Don’t go for a power struggle. You will lose that. Try something simple. Complicated plans never work out. Work with unexpected means, play with your perceived weakness. And wait for distraction… Hel left his wand sleeve untouched, he was no match to Carrow in spell casting. At least not for the spells that mattered.

Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe. There… pocketknife. A gift of Lily, mugglemade and therefore inconspicuous. A single click slipped the blade out. It wasn’t big. It wouldn’t do much damage.

But slashing into Carrow’s dominant hand would make him loose grip. If he lost his wand, Tris could try and make a run. All Tristan needed was a little help… But there was none in sight. And soon they would be fully out of Hogsmeade, and then, whatever Carrow intended, he was at his mercy.

Just, when Tristan was about to try something even without distraction, before it was fully too late, Carrow instead distracted him. With an ugly smile he pulled up his sleeve, just a bit, revealing a Dark Mark, pointed his wand and produced a small surge of energy.

Tristan jerked back wide-eyed. “No… no, let me go”

Before he could run, Carrow grabbed his collar and shook him. “Oh, are we scared of a little family reunion?” Now, he pulled at him without hesitation. “Don’t try anything. Someone comes to your help, I just kill’em. And then maybe you… or maybe not… more fun, if I don’t, right?” There was nothing funny about his voice. But at least, he wasn’t insane. In fact, he seemed very, very rational.

Tristan’s hand clenched the little knife, as he begged fate: ‘One chance. Just one chance…’

\----

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Amycus Carrow, Amycus Carrow. He didn’t know about Amycus Carrow. He had followed merely out of curiosity, what Tristan was up to… But once Carrow showed his Mark… This couldn’t be good. Not at all. And he really couldn’t show his face right now or the game was over. But if he didn’t and the Dark Lord got Tris, it wasn’t worth playing it anymore…

Regulus thoughts raced. He had to do something. Anything. He had to… Near panicking he studied the surroundings. Old houses, some empty, most in various states of disrepair, some so badly damaged a well-placed spell might tear down the whole wall. And wouldn’t that be nice? But it was too dangerous. There was no way of saying, what the stones would hit… and he wanted to help Tris, not hurt him, too. Then, just when Carrow manhandled the small Malfoy like a ragdoll, the perfect opportunity presented itself, as if Lady Luck had winked at him.

A whispered spell, subtle placed at just the right position… And before the distinct crackle could catch Carrow’s attention, before he could turn and see who cast it, a heavy window shutter came loose, fell, almost burying him, and exploded on impact in a cloud of wood dust. Regulus dove back, casting a concealment spell, just to be sure and listened.

Within seconds, there was a low pitched scream – Carrow, not Tris – followed by a string of swear words and threats and the sound of footsteps. With impressive speed the smaller boy went past the corner, where he was hidden and used a strange, fluid movement to change directions unexpectedly. A stunner ran passed him, but missed its target by a wide range. Then Carrow came galloping, just as Tristan disappeared around the corner. Regulus held his breath. But Carrow was too preoccupied to look closely.

Already a little out of breath he followed the sound of footsteps. At his pace, Regulus thought, not without satisfaction, he would never catch up, if his life depended on it.

\-----

Tristan leaned against the wall to catch his breath, just one alley away from Honeydukes and close to a lot of public. Merlin, this was pathetic. And so stupid. It had been ages since his last panic attack, and now was definitely not the moment to start again, with Carrow still in the area and maybe only a heartbeat away.

And still, he just couldn’t help it. His head swam, his mind was swept blank and the coppery taste in his mouth made him want to puke. He had learned early on to keep breathing. Slowly, in and out. It just didn’t help, right now. He still felt as if someone sat on his chest, suffocating him.

The worst thing was, he knew, he had to keep moving. To get away. There was no help here and he wouldn’t get lucky twice. Even the first time, the shutter breaking out of pure sympathy was more than he had expected. Or deserved. He couldn’t afford breaking now.

Determinedly he clenched fists and jaw, readying himself for another dash towards the castle and its relative safety.

Suddenly, too fast to react, someone rushed around the corner, running right into him and pinning him back to the wall. Tristan didn’t waste time with pointless thinking, he just exploded into a small ball of resistance, kicking and scratching and biting and… “Damn, Tris, stop it. It’s me, it’s me.”

As sudden as energy had surged through him, it withdrew again, leaving him weak, shaky and miserable. He sagged against Regulus’ body, to tired and to scared to even ask, where he had come from and why he was here.

\----

Oh, sh… this really hurt. Regulus had to use all his restraint not to bend over in pain. Which was… good… Somehow. If he could barely hold on, although Tristan’s attack had ceased after a few moments, Carrow didn’t stand a chance.

He hadn’t expected that. Tris had never been much of a fighter – still wasn’t in the classical wizarding sense – but this worked too, fortunately, though at his expense now, and better than expected.

“You ok?” he managed to ask, still panting, both from catching up with the smaller Ravenclaw and from the fight.

Tris nodded, but didn’t speak, the face tinted grey with fear. A shiver ran over his body and he sniffed, his hands catching in Regulus’ robes. It took him precious minutes to regain his composure.

Deliberately slow, Regulus removed his own support around his smaller figure and stepped slightly back. “I saw you with Carrow. What did he want?” It wasn’t technically a lie. It just wasn’t all he saw.

The smaller Malfoy sighed, carefully unclenching his hands from Regulus’ clothes and whispered, still tense: “Courtesy of Lucius is my best guess.” One more step away and they didn’t touch anymore. Pity really.

Regulus pulled his robes back into shape and shrugged. “Go back to the castle; I follow at distance to keep you out of trouble.” It was the best, he could do, just now.

Tristan shook his head, sheepishly. “I need to buy some stuff…”, but before he could finish, Regulus interrupted.

“I’ll get it, as soon as you are through the wards.” That put an end to it for now. They would meet later at the usual place. Regulus understood the allure of the Astronomy tower well enough, but everyone went there. No one ever checked the History classroom. Not even the teachers… Not even Binns.

\----

Tris must have waited quite some time, before Regulus arrived, the hair hanging loose and shielding his eyes, while he fidgeted with the band, normally holding it back, fully lost in thought. Sitting down beside him, the younger Black brother placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him gently into a kiss. “You are too careless.”

When Tristan refused to answer, but leaned longingly into Regulus’ shoulder, he continued: “I have your quills and ink. And some extras.” It felt much too good, to card his fingers throughh the soft strands around the nape.

The smaller boy still remained silent and didn’t even look up. It wasn’t defiance though, as he was comfortably relaxed.

“I… don’t usually ask questions, and you usually don’t answer them.” Regulus tried, finally getting a reaction out of his lover.

“Hm…”

“I could have lost you. Today… or… any other day. Don’t you understand? I worry.” His hand wandered over Tristan’s shoulder into his hand, as the younger boy turned, facing him now.

“So do I. Never mattered.” The voice was infuriatingly devoid of accusations, his look tender, instead of angry.

Regulus gritted his teeth. This was so much worse than any scolding from his mother, he had ever received. He had to actively fight the urge to apologize, for Merlin’s sake. Taking his anger as a shield, he growled: “It’s kind of… different, you know?”

“How exactly?” Tristan could be so cruel, when he wanted.

But it was up to Regulus to decide, if he wanted to be baited. He ignored the question. “The point being… I can’t do it like this anymore.” He halted for a second, as he watched defiance grow in his lover’s eyes. “I know, you don’t want to talk about it. But… me not knowing… might get you killed.”

“So you kill me yourself, instead?” Tris suggested softly. Regulus would never know how he managed to keep every single taunt, every negative emotion out of his voice and still hit so hard. “I told you: we can’t do it. I can’t do it. Too dangerous, too many questions, too advanced.”

“I don’t fucking care. I’d rather die with you, than live without.” It was louder, than he had intended, more intense too. “And I’d rather die here, than go back without your guidance.”

Tristan’s eyes shot up, meeting his, his hands closing around his arms. Inhaling sharply, he bit out: “I have always resigned myself to lose you. I… knew, I didn’t deserve you, and I… could never be enough. But not like that. Never like that.” Pain now clearly showed in his face, though he didn’t cry. He rarely did, Regulus realized, belatedly. In his own way, he had a perfect grip on pure-blood composure.

“I believe in you. In us.” ‘Don’t you?’ was stooping so low, he didn’t even try add it. “I lay my life into your hands.”

He could see, what tipped the scales. He could scream, he could command, he could beg, it wouldn’t sway Tristan. But the absolute trust in one hand, in his complete despair in the other… “I need to prepare. And… we can’t do it here. We need more… privacy.”

Regulus accepted everything. He would find a way to accommodate. Removing obstacles was daily business for a Black.

\----

It was so late, it started to be early and so deep in the bowels of the castle, that, given, Tristan was right and they would die tonight, it would take ages to find them. Regulus grinned at the thought. How embarrassingly romantic. Two pure-blood boys dying, no, committing suicide for love. Lying dead deep in the castle.

He was far too cynical, he decided. Apropos cynical… he looked around. “I had expected something a little more… dramatic.”

Tristan’s smile barely touched his mouth, but his eyes flickered friendly, as he unpacked just three candles, a bit of chalk and a very sharp crescent-shaped knife. “I am truly sorry, I can’t provide a whole wizard circle and three blessed virgins…” he smirked. “But given, we live long enough, I daresay, you will get something for your money.” The nonchalance barely covered his nervousness. Gnawing at his lips he wrote symbols on the ground and placed the candles.

Regulus tried to analyze them, but despite his good upbringing and curriculum, he didn’t know all of them. Blood was clear. So was purity. Those two were practically a second family crest. He also got balance. But most of the others… And the more Tris added, intertwining them with great care, sweat dripping from his brow, the less every single was visible.

“I have no way of knowing, if this works…” he panted, toneless from concentration. “I’ve never done something equally complicated before.”

Regulus stared. The question was right there… What have you done then… What the hell have you been doing, if you didn’t even bring a book to copy? But he dared not interrupt. Too much was at stake. He would ask later.

Eventually Tris turned to him, pale in the light of their Lumos. “Can you light the candles for me?”

Regulus cast three small incendios and sat down, where Tristan wanted him to: one candle right behind him, one in front, but further away, one to the side.

“You afraid?”, the smaller boy asked, almost conversationally and explained then: “Your candle, mine, the… witness.” He used the latter to heat the blade, then spilled some hot wax on first his, then Regulus’ hand. “Focus on that. Pain often helps.”

Again, Regulus felt overwhelmed with darkly amused curiosity, but didn’t say something. Instead, he allowed Tristan to take his hand once more, but hesitated, as soon as the smaller boy placed the knife in it. “You start by the wrist, and cut upwards over the inside of the elbow, slowly, until it starts pulsing in a rhythm” he explained, seemingly unfazed. “You don’t cut deep enough, it’s all for nothing.” His hand rested softly on Regulus’ lap, a sign of complete trust, the finger relaxed and open, the pulse softly vibrating.

Suddenly, everything Tris said about the ritual came back to him. How deadly it was, how harsh on its recipients, how badly it could go wrong. He hadn’t listened again and as a result, had to do something so terribly wrong. Cutting through vein and muscle and nerve of the only person, he truly trusted, he truly loved. The knife in his hand trembled, as he fixed Tristan’s arm. “Can’t you?”

The smaller boy shook his head. “Dark magic is never without a price. This is it. Pay.”

Regulus straightened up. He was a proud son and possible heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House Black, he wouldn’t back of a task like this, when Tristan clearly intended to go through. As sure-handed, as he managed, he cut into the pale skin. It was surprisingly easy, as the knife was extremely sharp. Blood welled up under his fingers, stickily and hot.

“Higher.” Tristan commanded, and he complied, up, over the crease of the elbow and into the upper arm, until he could feel the smaller boys heartbeat through the cut.

His breath trembled, as he took the knife from Regulus hand. “Now…” he whispered, slurring from pain and blood loss. “Now comes the funny part. That’s my dominant hand.” With that, he carved the same line into Regulus skin. It hurt surprisingly little, but he started to feel nauseous and dizzy.

Tristan stopped and pressed the pulsing bloody wounds against each other. “Speak after me. In solitude, company.” Regulus followed. “In pain, elation. In darkness, enlightment. In conflict, unity.”

Regulus throat felt hoarse and dry, the words thin and weak, while Tristan remained sure, repeated once more in Latin, followed by a few more phrases, he didn’t quite catch. And then the traditional words of the oath. “I give to you my blood and bone, life and soul, I offer to you my heart and head, hand and eye. I swear to you loyalty and faith.” Again, Regulus followed, floating away from pain and loss and grief and fear… He understood, he was dying, when a flash of white light shot through his body. Was that… the other side? Or something else? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It felt… warm and soothing and familiar and… safe. It felt good enough to relax into it and fall unconscious so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not that good with rituals, tell me, what you think about this one.


	38. Bonding issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan need to sort themselves out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no surprise here, they are of course not both dead, although it would have made a nice alteration to the topic to have them walk around as ghosts... It would make their influence on the war rather erratic, unfortunately, so...

Life was a thin line between icy cold and soft warmth. Wasn’t it? A thin line between his freezing back and the warmth coiling in his lap, tucked against his chest. Living, comfortable, reassuring warmth. A thin line across the inside of his right arm, running silvery along the soft skin before trailing into nothingness. “Sanctimonia vincet semper” it said in beautiful delicate script, as if written with the finest of quills over and over again, tendrils of letters reaching out over his skin. Purity always wins.

It took tracing the other, similarly beautiful line on another arm, saying “Toujours pur”, to understand, what it meant, what it was. “I will be as much a Black as you a Malfoy…” Tristan’s words. He just hadn’t expected such a literal manifestation. Now, he was twice marked. He liked this one much better though. It was beautiful, and it was pure in exactly the same way as Tristan was, as his family never understood, despite talking about purity all the time.

It was clean and innocent, without fail and reserve. Strangely though, other than for a little weak he felt no different than the evening before. The lines were the clear indication the rite must have worked. Really worked.

Part of him still remembered the blood, all the blood spilling from his lovers arm. He would have never survived, if it hadn’t, yet here he was, safely in his embrace, still sleeping as Tristan always had been, morning after morning, for more than two years.

Absent-mindedly Regulus felt for his wand, which he found right in the sleeve, where it belonged, and cast a Lumos into the near darkness of after-dawn dungeons. The floor around them lit up in a slimy shine. The blood was still there. So much of it. It soaked through the chalk lines, leaving them with a pinkish tint and covered the ground around them, slippery and sticky.

Life blood. As in: you die, if it doesn’t work. Regulus shook his head. He didn’t regret this one. There was no point now. He did regret though, he hadn’t listened. Again. He would have, should have been much better prepared for this.

Funny, how he had stumbled into this adventure of Sirius proportions, not even knowing, what to expect, as a few basic facts aside, no two sources had agreed on what to actually expect. Well… no time like now to try it out.

He shook the smaller boy in his lap gently, trying to wake him up. It was… breathtaking, how the silent content presence in the back of his mind exploded into a small ball of emotion, confusion, fear, relief, joy, passing by too fast to understand, to analyze. He understood, how he could not have noticed, it was subtle. You could miss it, if you didn’t look too closely. But it was there, unmistakably, the constant reassurance of Tristan’s continued existence, of him being… him… Loving, caring, living.

He gasped at the sheer beauty of it. It was nothing, he could have described or even imagined, it was so little and so much at the same time, and he found the same marvel in the silvery grey eyes staring up into his. “We did it” he grinned. “Tris… we did it.”

The smaller boy grinned back and tried still a little shaky to stand up. “You think you could cast a little fire though? We shouldn’t leave this lying around…”

Damn right he was… So much blood was no good idea at all. Regulus burned all the remnants and vanished whatever remained. Then, with one last, big, happy smile, totally unbefitting a Black, he bid goodbye to Tristan and left to have a long, hot shower. He definitely needed one.

\----

After the initial elation of not actually dying, after slipping back into Ravenclaw, after a good shower and a thorough inspection of the – for the lack of a better word – scar, Tristan was somewhat disappointed. Sacrificial magic was mostly about equivalents, and sure, feeling the reassuring tingle of Regulus’ wellbeing continuously, was good. But it by no means equaled the sacrifice of lifeblood, the near-dying, the pain to possibly kill the person you loved enough to share this with, and in such a cruel way.

It was far from the wonders rumored about the blood oath bond. No better, than a simple tracker any determined third year might manage. There were few possible causes for that. The most likely of them was that he had botched it. That despite the appearances, despite all his preparations and care, he had got it wrong. Not wrong enough to kill them both, but inadequate none-the less.

He thought about it during classes, checking on Regulus again and again, just to be sure, he didn’t lose that small connection, too, but couldn’t make head or tail of it. After school, after his infirmary duties, after homework, when his dorm mates went to bed, he finally got enough privacy to check the book again, hidden by closed curtains, always vigilant, so he could hide it on even the smallest disturbance, for he still couldn’t manage even basic wards.

He went over each detail of the runes, every word of the incantation, the whole process and couldn’t find his mistake. It left him restless and discontent.

With a sigh he slipped out of bed. He needed to talk. And it was not, like it was exceptionally hard for him to slip into the Slytherin dungeon unseen. The passwords had changed, yes, but there were a good few people by now, who kept him thoroughly informed, just in case.

Taking care of everyone with equal respect resulted in a surprising number of people willing to help him at times, even acquaintances, some real friends. And since he made no secret of the fact, he didn’t care for house enmities he could get into every common room effortlessly. As Slytherin… well, they were the most likely to repay, what they owed. Most would look the other way, if he _murdered_ someone.

Smiling on the thought he whispered the Slytherin password and stepped into the common room that lay empty at this hour, aside from a desperate fifth year on her way to fail her OWLs, fallen asleep in an armchair.

Against better knowledge he checked on the girl, hushing her, when she woke up, drowsily. He didn’t mind gathering her books for her and giving her an affectionate shove, sending her off to bed, before he headed for Regulus’ prefects room. He didn’t mind one bit, she would remember. No one would ask her and she wasn’t likely to rat him out. Tristan sometimes had the feeling, he could go as unseen as a ghost. Perhaps this came with the knowledge of being more or less dead, he thought, as he finally reached the door.

Just to try it out, he didn’t knock, reaching through the bond instead. It took less than a minute, before the door opened and Regulus dragged him in. “Hah!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Took me longer than I thought, but there you are.”

Tristan eyed him in confusion. “Pardon me…. What?”

He found himself pulled into a firm hug, so little like Regulus’ restrained normal self and so much like Sirius’. The similarity was as striking as it was unexpected. If the bond hadn’t been very clear on that, he would have doubted, it even was Regulus.

“Are you trying to prove, there is an actual heart beating in your chest?” he protests half-heartedly, only to find his breath robbed by an urgent kiss. He felt a warm feeling pooling in his stomach, slowly releasing the tension of his muscles, without his doing.

“I waited too long for you.”

Then again… why not kissing first, talking later. He leaned back into Regulus’ arms, allowed himself some moments of relief, breathing in the familiar scents, submitting to the familiar feeling. “I thought about you. Us” he eventually managed.

“I know.” Regulus released him, sitting down on the bed. “So did I. It’s strange to feel your presence all the time.” He patted on the blanket beside him and smiled, when Tristan followed the unspoken request. “Will you stay?”

Tristan fell back on the bed, looking up in long established relaxation. “Tonight? Maybe… I will need to slip out in the morning. At all… is too dangerous. There is no inconspicuous reason to come back.”

“No?” Regulus leaned down aside him, caressing his cheek. “How about I threaten you into submission?” His fond smile betrayed the mock-grave tone of his voice.

“Better not.” Tristan disagreed. “Too many people would feel tempted to come to my rescue.” They laughed over it, although it was not that funny. Discussing a few more ideas and dismissing them all, they realized, they needed to remain secret, although the bond had done nothing to quench their desire for each other.

On the contrary… It grated down on Regulus and if he was honest to himself, also Tristan’s control. This wasn’t going as he had wanted it, turning out to be more of a liability than actual help.

But Regulus didn’t want to hear it. Determinedly he dismissed Tristan’s doubts. “There must be a reason, why the oath in such high regard. We will figure it out.”

But what if he really had botched it? If… He couldn’t finish his thought, as Regulus kissed him again, demandingly and eagerly. The strange feeling he hadn’t analyzed after their first kiss exploded, filling every fiber of him and leaving him breathless. He gasped, as it dawned on him… the bond was far from finished, it only ever started to appear, to develop. It was theirs to form, to shape, to nurture.

Perhaps this explained his problems… and the variety of things addressed to the bond… It would be what they needed it to be. It would be theirs alone. He didn’t even try to explain it to Regulus though. There were more important things, like another kiss.

\----

Regulus had always assumed, he more or less knew, what went on in Tristan’s head. But now, with the clear, distinct feedback from the bond, every twitch, every little non-gesture received a new meaning. He only just started to understand, how little the smaller Malfoy actually let out. How much sadness, how much anger and fear, need and love just stayed bottled up, without ever showing.

As a pure-blood he should have known; Tristan had received more or less the same education as he had. But he had always seemed more open, less… composed. With the bond in place, it became obvious, how little Regulus actually knew, how often he had been fooled with the mask of relaxed serenity.

The problem, though, was, he could feel, when something irked or concerned his lover, but he couldn’t read his thoughts. He couldn’t know what it was, only, that it was a lot. And there was mostly at least a whole school day between them, where he couldn’t even ask.

It was frustrating. But it was also instructive. He noticed, he could push emotion through the bond, to calm his lover down, to sooth him, let him know, he was there, and he cared. In response, he could feel Tristan’s reassurance too. At first, it was only discernable as a soft nudge, but the harder he tried, the longer he concentrated, the better he could distinguish, what was just a smile, what a soothing touch. With the Christmas break upon them, they could hold whole little conversations only by the feelings transmitted.

A soft ping… how are you… A little peak of joy… look I am fine. Some doubt… Really? You look upset… A sliver of desire… I miss you.

It helped bridge the necessary distance; it didn’t help quench the need to touch, though. With the days passing by, Regulus realized, he would never again be able, to not want to touch and be touched, preferably frequently. Even small things… brushing their fingertips passing by, a stolen kiss between classes, left his skin tingling.

More often, than was responsible he tried to lure Tristan back to the Slytherins or met with him in the history classroom…

Once a week was simply not enough anymore. Fortunately Tris felt the same, though unfortunately he had the tendency to ask questions, whose answers Regulus would rather have forgotten.

“Will you go home for Christmas?”

Of course he would. His family expected him. They wouldn’t accept another son going astray. Besides… he owed his grandfather. Which reminded him: “We will have to meet up, once. I will need to present you to my grandfather.”

Tris frowned, shaking head no. “Why?” It was no surprise, he was far from overjoyed.

“He is Lord Black.” Regulus simply stated, adding: “I will make sure, he gives you safe passage.” He wouldn’t do something to Tris anyways. Knowing, what they had done. “What will you do? Where will you be?”

Tristan shrugged. “I still won’t tell you.” The small jolt of defiance was followed by a potent mixture of joy and sorrow, concern and excitement.

Regulus started to understand, why lying to your bonded would prove difficult. With so clear an emotional response, one needed to be cold as ice to lie. No person capable of that would be able to pass the oath. Maybe it was time for some truths. “I know, you have been working against… the Dark Lord. You haven’t been exactly subtle about it.”

Tris laughed out loud. “I won’t deny it. I won’t tell more either.” He smiled, almost reverently. “I won’t put a target on… friends.”

“You think, I’d betray them?” Regulus snarled, before he could stop himself. “That’s…” cold. If, knowing of the Dark Lord’s methods to extract information, uncomfortably accurate. He sighed, resigning himself to more silence. “I don’t want to be left outside anymore. But I get it. I do. Let me give you something.” With painstaking thoroughness he cast a whole series of privacy spells, layering them into a nearly impregnable ward. “I will defect. I… try to postpone it until the summer, but if they summon me during Christmas and send me on a raid, I will do it then. Go there, fake my own death, disappear. I have made preparations, but I am not above asking for help.”

Tristan didn’t feel surprised. Only determined and slightly hopeful. “I’ll try to get you something. It will be hard though… They won’t… forgive the Mark, nor trust you easily.” Judging by the feelings, he projected, he put this mildly. His mood was incredibly dark. “I will help you though. With whatever I can.”

Regulus nodded. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again... I am very curious, what you think...


	39. Testing the waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first attempts to reconcile are only partly successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are into my second week of work... And going. I am so proud. By now we are in parts, I have writtten after the new job started. If this affects the quality, I apologize. Let me know, though.

“Mr. Malfoy, please sit.” Professor Slughorn gestured politely to one of his armchairs. He had still little hold over the boy, who continuously managed to avoid being associated with anything or anyone, the infirmary aside. And ever since his strange alliance with the Black-boy had been canceled, he had avoided him completely, outside of the Potions laboratory.

This in fact had made it much easier not to think about the uncomfortable letter still lying in wait in his desk, the letter, he still hadn’t decided on and felt slightly guilty about. But Avicen and Ascolip got impatient now. Well aware that he hadn’t even breached the topic with the young Malfoy, they had sent a second and much less polite request. If not openly threatening yet, it still left the Potions professor uneasy, and so he decided, it was time to safe his hide.

“I have… received a proposal for you. Old associates, offering to help in your… unfortunate situation.” Slughorn welcomed the distrust in young Tristan’s face. It already made him feel less guilty. “If you’d like to… hear about it?”

The corners of the boy’s mouth twitched; hard to say, why exactly, and he nodded. “I am listening.” It was much to stern a voice for just a boy.

“The highly respected healers Avicen and Ascolip have taken pity on your situation…” The moment, he said it, he knew, it was the wrong thing. Pity… How could he use the word to a pure-blood boy? Now, if only for pride, he would be _forced_ to refuse… Sad, really. Slughorn shrugged contently. “They offer you an apprenticeship. They have never taken an apprentice before.” Even he didn’t know, what he was about to imply. Still… he had done his… best, hadn’t he? Not his fault, it went awry. “I shall inform them of your… decision, once you tell me.”

The Malfoy boy watched him coldly. “I will think about it. And… Professor Slughorn… Let them know, their pity is misplaced.”

Slughorn didn’t flinch, but he knew, when he was called out. Impressive. He wouldn’t have guessed, the boy realized, when he was manipulated. He might actually have learned something from his former associate. Maybe he was prepared to sort this out on his own. Slughorn still intended to not be used so easily by the old healer.

\----

It had its perks to have a room apart from Regulus. Not that he intended to lie to him, but it was wiser not to reveal everything to him just yet. Especially, when he had to prepare the ground and was sure to find a lot of nasty surprises under the surface. Better to sort it out on his own. He tried not to gnaw at the tip of his quill, before he was ready to write everything down.

_Dear Padfoot,_

_I need to apologize. I am deeply sorry, I let you in the dark, but I feel I had no choice in the matter, for it was not my secret to keep. The substitute has made a decision, I still disapprove off, but I was incapable to change his mind. He has paid dearly and continues to do so, as he cannot simply take it back._

_I didn’t intend to betray your trust, which, by not telling you, I certainly have. Be assured though, neither did I tell him of your doings._

_If you find forgiveness in you, don’t waste it on me. Give it to him. He needs it. If you want to yell at me: I will visit the host and the pup for some days over Christmas. I am ready for it._

_And if we can talk about helping him afterward, I will gladly suffer it._

_Serpent_

It took him several corrections and a rewrites, before he got it right. Or at least acceptable. He wished, he could just talk to Sirius. But maybe it was better this way around, so the older Black had some time to cool down. No one in his sane mind would want to face his temper unprepared. All Tristan could hope for, was, he would bring Remus along… That might save him from being throttled to death…

\----

“We have so many secrets from each other.” Regulus watched Tristan closely and didn’t miss the soft flinch. The sting of guilt hang in the air like a dark cloud. Some part of Regulus wanted to take it back, his secrets weighed just as heavy as Tristan’s. Yet, if they wanted this to work, if they wanted the bond to grow, they needed to trust. He needed to trust. You couldn’t build a castle on sand.

“What about a game? For every question, you answer me, I answer one of yours. Until one won’t tell. We might start over later.” It was a feeble attempt, yet Tristan nodded in agreement. He wanted to tell the truth as much as Regulus did. And would find it just as hard. “Ok… you start.”

Tristan thought about it for quite some time, before he finally, tentatively whispered: “Is there something in your life, you regret?”

Regulus reached out, taking his hand. That started surprisingly easy. “Yes. Several things, to be honest. Not you, though. Never you.” He couldn’t feel relief, so Tristan had known. He still needed to hear it. Frequently. Every day, every hour, until he, some day, might belief it. Believe it was not Regulus, but him, who deserved better. Which led to his question. He wouldn’t ask for Tristan’s… adventures. Not yet. There was some other thing, he had never figured out. “Give me the name.”

Confusion was in his face, confusion in the bond. “That’s not a question… what a name?”

Regulus almost sneered. “His name. Give me his name.” His jaw clenched, as the anger, he had carried (and suppressed) for two years by now, rose its ugly head again. “I have never been able to figure it out. Tell. Me. His. Name.”

Tristan remained silent so long, Regulus began to ask himself, if he had been to bold, if he should have been more careful. If Tris would answer at all. Suddenly, his lover looked very young again, very small and vulnerable. He licked his lips with watery eyes and all but whispered: “Rosier. Evan Rosier.”

Bile rose from Regulus’ stomach. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry, he hadn’t known, sorry, he had found the guy not quite sane, but decent. Sorry he had forced the memory back. Not sorry though, he had finally made Tristan understand, it wasn’t his fault. “I will… do, what you want.”

Again, a long silence stretched. A silence, in which he found Tristan seize his hands, hushing small kisses over the knuckles. A silence, in which Tristan sought his gaze. “Don’t do anything. It’s over. Has been for a long time.”

Regulus changed the grip, until he could feel Tris’ heartbeat under his fingers. “I’ll try.” No more lies. He wasn’t sure, he could resist, if the possibility for retaliation presented itself. He wouldn’t pretend to. He saw the gratitude for that in Tristan’s eyes.

“My turn? Well… then… Are you still afraid to fuck me?”

The question, its vulgar expression, its harshness, its reality… it hurt unexpectedly. It wasn’t one he had expected. It wasn’t one, he wanted to hear. He wasn’t afraid, was he? Had never been, had he? He knew no answer to it.

Tris’ mouth curved into a sad smile. “Thought so. How do you think, you can rid of your damn guilt, if you can’t even get rid of that?” It sounded bitter. “Stop it. I know you won’t hurt me. You know it too. Come back, when you are done holding back.” He rose, ready to leave.

Regulus grabbed his hand, pulling him back around, kissing him deep and hard. He was done. Fucking done.

\----

Regulus left with the train as he had come with it. Alone.

It had taken him quite some prodding to make Tristan finally give in to the notion of meeting Arcturus and he had only done so under two firm restrictions. First of all, he naturally wanted the promised safe passage. To, through and from the meeting. And second, he would only meet with Regulus’ grandfather. Not with the rest of the family.

Arcturus was Lord Black and deserved to learn of the addition to his family, the rest… were just relatives, even if they were Sirius’ and Regulus’ parents. Tristan just knew too much about how that had turned out.

It was fine for Regulus. He had agreed with his companion to arrange the details via owl and hoped it would be easy. He wasn’t sure though, even Tris himself probably didn’t know yet, where he would be over Christmas. He had seemed rather doubtful, when asked about it.

\----

Tristan intended to stay in Hogwarts over Christmas, a few days at Godric’s Hollow, Lily had insisted on aside. He didn’t want to intrude at the Potter’s, with little baby Harry, who probably caused lots of work. And his rather tense feelings towards Sirius forbid other visits at the moment. Or so he thought.

The older Black brother had other ideas though. Just as he went back from the train to the castle, not fearing anything anymore, because he had faced more dangerous things than a few bullies headfirst and here he wouldn’t just disappear, he met a very familiar black dog that stirred him away from the castle and towards the forbidden forest.

Once they passed the first bushes and trees and were well concealed from prying eyes, it transformed into one roguish, leather-clad and very familiar young man, who didn’t look exactly happy. Tristan decided not to be frightened just now. There was plenty room for development of Sirius’ mood.

“Are you avoiding us?”

Tris shrugged, halfway admitting it, but then countered: “I was supposed to come for Christmas dinner again.”

Sirius more or less ignored the remark and got right to the point. “You wanted to talk. ‘bout Regulus? What did he do?”

“Well… what would you think?” Tristan slightly tapped his forearm and made a half worried, half apologetic face. “I don’t know what else. We don’t talk. Not about his, not about mine.” He studied Sirius’ face worriedly. “And you are…”

“Angry. God-damn fucking angry. What was he thinking? The Dark Mark? You must be kidding me.” The older Black brother growled like a lion on tooth ache and paced, dragging Tristan right with him. “You are right though… He will need every forgiveness, he can get. Because mine is certainly unavailable.”

Tristan sighed. “You don’t mean that. He needs your help… If… If Lucius wanted out, wanted my help, I’d give it to him. And he actively tried to kill me.”

It was the wrong thing to say, at least while Sirius was angry. “He can go sort out his own mess, for I certainly won’t do it for him. And you…” His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Tristan freed himself from Sirius grip and put a few steps between them. “I keep secrets. His, yours. Fucking Moody’s. Everyone’s. I am loyal. I let people make their own decisions. Everyone seems to take that for granted. And fucking ignores mine!” he cried out.

Sirius didn’t have the decency to look guilty. “Come on. Get your things, Moody has some trainings scheduled. And it’s boring here anyways.”

\----

Sirius new place was even less comfortable than the old. Just a two-rooms-apartment in a run-down muggle apartment building, just a few corners from Diagon Alley. It had a second bed, though. That was nice. And a decent shower, which was even nicer, because one tended to need it after what Moody called training these days.

He preached “constant vigilance” and forced them over roofs, through seedy alleys, down muggle stairs, all while wearing disillusionment-charms that Tristan couldn’t reliably cast and protegos which were reasonably exhausting. He made them disarm traps, find hidden magic, analyze things and he never gave them a break. Sirius, Remus and Tris summoned strings for the shower afterwards. Tris always had the shortest, meaning lukewarm to cold water and a very slippery floor.

On his third day in training, an almost completely black owl arrived, looking very snobbish and hooting with an air of importance. It narrowly avoided being severely hexed by Sirius, who certainly thought it came for him. It didn’t.

Tris was handed a letter, and then, the giant bird departed again, leaving him more than slightly at awe. All three men eyed him with a good amount of concern afterwards, but he just put the letter away. He would read it later. Preferably alone. And definitely, definitely not in Moody’s presence. He could really go without a proper interrogation.


	40. Preparations for a family meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Christmas holidays Tristan receives an unwanted invitation and has difficulties to make sure, he can attend it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a bad day again... losing some lead... But I will be able to go on at least until the weekend. And maybe I can gain some speed then. With the Lockdown still in place it isn't like I can go anywhere.

Sirius was well aware, how Moody looked at him, all thoughtful and plotting. This kind of expression never meant something good, and so he wasn’t surprised, when the old auror asked him to stay for a moment, when he put Remus and Tris through another round of dodging and dispelling wards.

“That was a Black owl, wasn’t it?” Sirius didn’t know, why he bothered asking, he had already made up his mind and wouldn’t get distracted, no matter if Sirius admitted it or not. “Is he still involved with your brother?”

Sirius refused to answer that. No matter, how mad he was at Regulus, he would not have him used in one of Moody’s plots. Even more so, because he knew, without the slightest doubt, the little Malfoy was head over heels in love with Regulus, even if he tried to hide it so hard. Remus had pointed it out first, but now, that he knew, it was terribly obvious.

“You know, we could use… an inside man. And last I heard, your brother was… well… inside.” Moody shrugged, oblivious to the devastation he laid to normal people’s feelings.

Heatedly Sirius rumbled: “No way, Moody. No fucking way.”

When the auror inhaled to continue prying, he barely stopped short of attacking him right away. The wand slipped into his hand all on its own and continued to point quite unmistakably at him.

“You leave them alone. They are certainly a mess, but they are _my_ mess.”

The old man grumbled unhappily and threw him some dirty looks. “Y’know, we all have to make sacrifices.”

Sirius mouth twitched. “Yeah, not all of us are able to sacrifice limbs.” Forcing his face into cold, icy silence, he continued: “Don’t force me to find out, if there is anything else, you can sacrifice…”

Threatening someone like Moody wasn’t a good idea at the best of times, but now the old man barked out a laugh. “Little protective, are we?”

Sirius turned away and walked, not even flipping him the bird.

\----

It was late, but the next day, there wouldn’t be training, so they wouldn’t be all sore and could cool down before visiting James, Lily and the baby at Godric’s Hollow for Christmas. Tristan had hoped, Remus and Sirius would be in bed by then, so he could read the letter undisturbed, but no such luck. By now, it was clear, they stayed on purpose, so he just gave up and pulled the piece of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded it, shielding it from view with his knees.

“Who is it from?” Remus asked, not bothering to hide the fact, he was playing with Sirius locks.

“Regulus.” Was all, Tristan could mumble, before the older Black brother rose abruptly and strode to his side, reaching for the letter. Instinctively he snatched it away and hid it, growling: “And it’s for me!”

“That was not _his_ owl” Sirius objected. He could be ridiculously stubborn on occasion and the argument about his brother’s missteps and Tristan’s part in it was all but forgotten.

“He’s at home, he may have borrowed one.” Tristan shrugged, trying to show nothing. It wasn’t enough.

“ _This_ …” Sirius bellowed, “was beyond doubt something more official than a seasonal greeting.” Again, he reached for the letter, forcing Tristan to retreat further.

“If you just let me read it first…”

Sirius folded his arms, but stepped away a bit, so he could safely unfold the parchment and have a look.

_Dear Tristan,_

_As presumed, Lord Black wishes me to present you to him. It took me quite some explaining of your situation to convince him, not only to grant you safe passage for your coming, stay and going, but also to meet on (relatively) neutral territory._

_Everything to make you feel safe._

_Please be free on the evening of the 28 th and the whole 29th. I will get you at and bring you back to any specified location. Send me an owl on the details please._

_I prefer not to write about things, you already know, so I think, it is best, I end here, before I start rambling._

_Love_

_Regulus_

Tristan’s heart made a happy little jump. ‘Love, Regulus.’

The whole letter tried to sound official, restrained and distant, but failed miserably. It dripped longing and want; it was so full of unmentioned feelings and untold love.

“It certainly _is_ from Regulus” Remus lauged. “He is positively drooling.” But his attempt to remove some tension fell on deaf ears, as Sirius continued to stare on the letter that Tristan clutched protectively, when he noticed it.

“It’s… complicated. He invited me to… meet” he provided unwillingly and folded the parchment to carefully tug it away, at best somewhere, where retrieving it, was out of question for Sirius.

The older Black wasn’t fooled. “Meet with whom?” He could be quite intimidating, when he wanted to be, and just now, he tried hard.

Tristan said nothing, realizing, he looked guilty as hell and so did his silence. But what could he say? ‘Your grandfather wants to inspect the newest pawn in his game of chess’ wouldn’t quite do it. And lying was something, he never really got the hang of. As the moment stretched, he noticed, neither of the young men intended to let him get away without an answer. “I’ve been granted safe passage…” he mumbled, resulting in just another shout of: “Who?”

Sirius didn’t sound angry anymore. Unless he had passed furious unnoticed and was now in the calm waters of insanity, he seemed almost… concerned, even more so, when Tristan shrank in his seat. “Listen, kid. Whoever it is, you were damn right to be careful. You don’t want to meet them. They are not nice people.”

Tris gave up and raised his hands exasperatedly. “I know that. I… break cold sweat at the thought. But… I can’t let Regulus alone in this.”

Just mentioning the name rekindled Sirius fury. “He can easily care for himself, instead of dragging you into this mess” he screamed. “It’s too dangerous, I won’t let you go.”

Within a second, Remus was at his side, putting a hand over his heart, cooling him down. “I don’t think, that’s a good idea…”

\----

They had a lengthy discussion. No… In fact, they had _several_ lengthy discussions, including the one, where Sirius almost threw a full-blown fit over the name of his grandfather. Tristan remained hell-bent on going, as he was sufficiently sure that Lord Black wouldn’t break his word over a boy, barely anyone knew, especially, since he probably wasn’t aware, Tris was working for the Order of Phoenix.

Sirius remained convinced it wasn’t worth the risk and meeting his grandfather served no good purpose. Remus played referee. And thought about it, until he reached a conclusion. Probably, he had been suspicious from the start, knowing, unlike Sirius, what kind of trouble Tris tended to get himself into.

“I have a question. Why exactly does he want to see you?” He shrugged and continued. “I mean, it’s not like you confessed your neverending love to Regulus to his family or… something.”

Damn him and his rational mind. “It’s…”

“Complicated, yes. It always is with you. I’d say, confessions are in order.” Remus quietly placed himself between Sirius and Tristan, giving the latter a suggesting nudge.

Reluctantly, the young Malfoy unbuttoned his right shirt sleeve and pulled it up, causing some alarmed reactions at first. “No… it’s not…” he started and trailed off, instead presenting the thin silvery line of writing that presented the Black family motto.

Remus took his arm by the elbow and watched fascinated, rotating it slightly, so he could reflexes wander over the metal-like surface. “What in Salazar’s name is that?” Sirius watched over his shoulder, irritated and bemused.

“A reason…” Tristan stated with a shrug. “Why Lord Black wants to see me, why I won’t leave Regulus alone, why in Mordred’s sake it’s so complicated, why… “ With another shrug he trailed off.

“A blood oath scar…” Sirius murmured, suspiciously low. “I’ve only ever seen one. On a painting. Orion always claimed, it was just myth.”

Remus was horrified and fascinated at the same time. “Care to elaborate?”

“As I understood it, it’s a weird mix of marriage bond and blood adoption. With added dark magic and a good dram of fairy tale. No one actually attempts that. It’s too… ” He moved his hand around in search for the right word.

“Obscure? Make-believe? Confusing?” suggested Remus.

“Dangerous.” The almost inaudible whisper startled them both, even more so the sheepish expression on Tristan’s face. “We didn’t know what we were doing. We just… needed a way.”

“This certainly wasn’t it” Remus summed up very confidently.

\----

It was dark outside, but Regulus didn’t care. In here was definitely more dangerous than out there. Danger of suffocating. Danger of going insane. Danger of trying to strangle his mother to death. Besides… “Kreacher?” he asked softly and the house elf appeared. He had always been Regulus favorite, despite his grumpy nature. He believed in the natural order of things as firmly as any pure-blood and he would have had himself killed on Regulus behalf.

True loyalty like that wasn’t common even in house elves. Especially, since Kreacher retained a good measure of defiance, independence and bad mood. “Walk with me.”

Kreacher brought him through the ward easily and together they went through the neighborhood until even the best heating charms couldn’t quite compete with the falling temperatures anymore. By then, Regulus had cleared his head enough to prepare for another week or so with his dear mother. Orion, his father, had fallen ill and his balancing factor was missing desperately. Without him, Walburga’s dark moods could carry her everywhere, from deep depression to foul insults, from fits of laughter to angry fits.

Regulus realized, even, when school was over and he wouldn’t have to disappear before the summer, he wouldn’t return. Mother was bringing herself into an early grave, solely by giving her nature free reign to destroy herself. He didn’t want to be her helper.

It was a sad fact of live, that neither Orion nor Walburga would ever be fit to rule over House Black. Sometimes, he suspected, Arcturus firm hold on his health and overall life was nothing but the stubborn holding onto power, until someone worthy of it came along. Yet, Sirius, who certainly would have been, threw it all out of the window. And he… well, he did his best. Where Sirius had charisma, he had cunning. Where Sirius had talent, he had ambition. Where Sirius had stubbornness, he had determination. He would not dare fail his grandfather, for despite all doubts about the Dark Lord and his little war, one thing was absolutely and without any question true: his duty to his family would survive.

\----

Christmas dinner at Godric’s Hollow was a familial business in the best possible way. It wasn’t intricate or grandiose; there was just a goose and some greens, and a bunch of cookies and a Christmas cake. There was no indefinite number of enchanted lights, just a few candles.

But it was warm and friendly and filled with love. So much love. James had earned his role as pater familiars, growing into the responsibility nicely and Lily looked so happy, if a little tired all the time. And little Harry… He crowed and cooed, tried to sit up all the time and wandered from lap to lap, on his whim, for no one could refuse him, if he extended his little arms.

Sirius was his favorite by now and he giggled full of happiness, when his godfather tickled his belly. But he also liked Remus and wouldn’t ignore Peter or Tristan either.

It was perfect in every imaginable way.

Later, when little Harry went to bed and really, really, finally slept, they sat down with a good glass of fire whiskey – this time without Tristan’s active participation – and talked. Soon, the topic changed from babies and marriages to school pranks and Quidditch, at which point Lily took her leave to clean up the kitchen. Tristan followed her. He wasn’t particularly fond of the sport either.

For a while, they worked together in silence, cleaning and putting stuff away and preserving the leftovers with stasis charms. Then, when they were mostly done, he could feel Lily eying him thoughtfully. “I want to ask you something.”

Tristan frowned. “Nothing good ever comes from that start…” He sat down on a chair and waited patiently. “I am willing to listen, though.”

Lily sat down opposite to him and leaned onto the table, unsure, if she should continue or not. “I remember what you did.” On his alarmed face, he hurried to assure him: “I didn’t tell anyone. But…”

Tristan tilted his head. “But what? Are you trying to blackmail me?” He wasn’t so jokingly relaxed as he made it sound.

“No, God, no…” Lily sighed. “I just thought… do you know something… I mean… with the war and everything… something to keep Harry safe? If… you know… something happens?” She looked at him, torn between the idea that she should feel guilty and the realization that she really wasn’t.

“Not yet, no… I… could have a look, but…” Inhaling deeply, Tristan decided on the truth. “This is dark magic. This is nothing, your husband would approve. And even though the rest of the bunch might know one thing or the other, they would probably spank my dear ass, if I even suggested it. Still interested?”

“Thank you” Lily all but whispered. “For your honesty. And… maybe… I… I don’t know.” She coughed embarrassedly and continued, louder, seemingly composed again. “I’d like you to… look for it… I will think it over and then… maybe…” With a shrug she ended, and he nodded to it.

“Everything to keep Harry safe. I promise.” He went to bed then. No conversation after this could be any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud of the Sirius and Remus interaction here... Tell me, if I am right to be ;)


	41. Black playground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Arcturus Black occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's update early, because I feel like it, and it's friday and I like this one very much... and had a good streak yesterday... I am getting places and am wondering how you will like it.

Regulus was waiting, hours before Tristan was supposed to appear. There wasn’t much to do anyways, and he missed the little one dearly. Oh Merlin, this didn’t even halfway encompass what he really felt, when he thought about his companion, his… oath-bound, his… other half, really. His mind and soul.

He hadn’t want to see it, had always preferred to deny the truth, but even before the blood oath, Tristan had him bound and captured and completely defenseless. And he had no idea, how it had been done. And now, with no place to call home anymore, no way not to think, nothing to distract him, it became real.

So he watched all the people, coming and going through the entrance of Diagon Alley, going for a lunch with friends, returning unwanted Christmas gifts, in general living… and he just couldn’t relate. Something was missing.

Only, when a familiar face, finally, finally appeared in the crowd, he felt whole again. Tris was early too. And how could he not be. He must have been missing him too.

\----

Tristan began to hate side-along-apparitions just as much as port-keys. But there was little choice, because even if he had known, where they would go, he just couldn’t get the hang of it, no matter how often Moody or Sirius showed him, no matter how hard he tried. It was another path of magic closed to him. He would have to learn to live with it.

At least, with Regulus he could hold on, grab his shoulder to steady himself and ask him to go a little slow. Or rather: he need not ask. The younger Black could feel it through the bond and hesitated just long enough for him to catch his breath.

“Come on.” Regulus waved and took his hand, dragging him along. “Kreacher has a nice room prepared for us, here; we will see Lord Black in the morning.”

Tristan was confused. “But I thought…” Only when he noticed the smirk on Regulus face, he understood and his eyes laughed back. He would have pounced at him, hugged him, kissed him until they were both breathless, but this was not, how things were done between them. A short squeeze of hands had to be enough, until they were out of sight – which took unfortunately much too long.

First, there was the long way to the Manor, an impressive wizarding house, whose crest he didn’t recognize, then they needed to pass a bunch of servants, who each needed to be introduced, in case, their service was needed and at last, the resident house elf tasked with Regulus’ room – Spody – took ages to accept, that indeed, the room was in perfect condition. It was, as if he felt personally insulted, Tristan didn’t even bother to see “his” room.

When he eventually disappeared with a distinct plopping noise, Regulus reacted faster than a stricking viper, pulling him in with one hand to his neck and kissing him senseless. “Merlin, you have no idea, how I missed you.”

Of course, no idea, no idea at all. He buried his hands in Regulus’ robe, his face in Regulus’ hair and breathed in the scent. “I missed you too.” It would have been a good moment to talk about things, with Regulus so open, so unguarded. Unfortunately, he wasn’t any better and within half a minute, his hands dipped under his lover’s clothes. Another half a minute, and they were both butt naked…

It was glorious… for the first time in ages, they had time, they had a warm place, and they had nothing to fear, at least for the time being… Tristan would rather not think about the morning and… Lord Black. So… no thinking allowed at all.

Instead, he started exploring Regulus as if he had never done it before, running his fingers and lips and tongue all over the sharp angles of the older boy’s body, kissing and nipping and everything short of worshipping.

Standing in his embrace and being allowed to touch him, was bliss, kneeling before him, propped against his lap, a grace. And nothing, nothing had prepared him for the actual moment, when he actually lay on the bed, Regulus above him, kissing him, preparing him, still insecurely, not quite knowing what to do and how to do it but, oh so very careful…

It had taken Tristan years to understand, to fully realize, he had never had a lover before. That this… this… was how it was supposed to be. The concentration in Regulus’ face, when he tried to go slow, when everything urged him on, the expression of fascination in his face, when he watched Tristan writhing and moaning and above all, the beauty of the moment, when he could no longer control himself, when he was so lost, he forgot about all his fears, all his doubts, all the expectations on him and just… fucked Tris in abandon.

It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t cheap, they paid dearly for these moments. But just then it seemed almost worth it.

\----

Regulus hadn’t realized how much he missed sleeping with Tristan at his side, until he had the chance to do it again. It felt so good, warm and familiar; he couldn’t even imagine how he had managed without. Now, that he had it again, he fell asleep with a feeling of home.

Only to be awoken with a start by a sharp tap on his shoulder. Instantly he jerked up, focusing on very dark and very inquisitive eyes. “Merlin’s b…” He sat up, fully aware of his disheveled look and the fact, he had slept full commando. “Lord Black.” He nodded slightly. No chance, he would show any weaknesses.

The old man watched him, seemingly emotionless, yet very attentive.

Damn, he should have known, Arcturus Black didn’t stick to vague appointments when he could make his own schedule. He should have warded the door much more thoroughly (not, that it would have helped) and he should have set a house elf to alarm him of his grandfather’s arrival. Now it was too late, and all he could do, was suffer through it and protect a still sleeping and unaware Tristan at the best of his abilities.

Wait… still sleeping? The lightest sleeper, he had ever known? Warily he looked down at his lover, then up to Lord Black, who touched his wand in its sleeve slightly. “Sleeping charm. He won’t wake up, until I let him. Speak freely.”

Regulus shrugged, there was nothing to be done and at least it spared the little one the humiliation to be found naked in his bed, his arms still wrapped around Regulus’ waist and his head firmly snuggled into his abdomen. “What would you want me to speak about?”

Lord Black laughed, with just an undertone of harshness. “I take it, the ritual was a success. And needs… frequent reinforcement?” The amusement was certainly not mutual.

Regulus gulped down his mortification and straightened up. “Not that I am aware of. He finds proximity reassuring.” For that was all it was. Proximity.

It didn’t look convincing to the slightest degree, he knew, but judging by his grandfathers relaxed stance, he really didn’t care, as long as Regulus continued to perform his duties for the house. There were certainly other things on his mind. “You talked about abuse. Show me.”

Ever so carefully Regulus removed some of the blanket covering Tristan’s body, revealing some of the scars, he wore, white lines on slightly less white skin. It wasn’t sufficient. With only a twitch of his jaw, Arcturus gripped the corner of the blanket and pulled it back fully, studying the boy with cool neutrality that showed nothing of the underlying feelings or thoughts.

Involuntarily Regulus followed his eyes over his lover’s body, again taking count of all those marks of past injuries. He knew, Tristan wouldn’t want to be pitied, but his gut clenched on the mere imagination of all the pain, as his fists clenched in anger. “Have you seen enough, sir?” he said, only just managing to suppress the bitterness.

But Arcturus shook his head and reached for Tristan’s arm, twisting it around, so he could inspect the thin silver line of the oath scar. With surprising tenderness his long, well-manicured fingers glided from the wrist along the arm almost up to the shoulder. “I can see what had you interested. And what keeps you protective of him” he stated, his eyes now fixed on Regulus’ face. “Turn him on the stomach.” He waved his wand, once, almost imperceptibly, and Regulus could feel, how the charm peeled away and left a tense, because very awake Tristan, who was instantly aware of his less than preferable situation.

“D’y’trust me?” he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Tristan nodded and pressed his forehead deeper into Regulus’ hands, as Lord Black grabbed his neck and pressed the signet ring against the spine. No sound came from his lips, and without the clear indication of burning pain, thrumming through the bond, Regulus would have addressed his tautness to embarrassment and fear. But knowing it, he looked up, meeting his grandfather’s eyes and positively glaring.

Arcturus didn’t react to that at all. With a content nod, he withdrew his fingers, let go of the blanket and left. “I await him in the study in an hour. You can join me in two.”

Regulus had no idea, what to make of it.

\----

Regulus had tried to prepare him. Had told him all the little things he needed to take care of or needed to avoid, all the little tells to understand what Lord Black was thinking, expecting, feeling. He didn’t feel prepared. Not the slightest.

Reluctantly, but not hesitating he stepped into the room that at this early hour still lay in darkness, only lit by the changing light of the fireplace. “Good morning, Lord Black.”

The old man sat in an armchair, but didn’t invite him to sit down. Instead, he watched him patiently, while Tristan fought, not to fidget. “You are?”

“Tristan Malfoy, Sir.” He dipped his head slightly, a universal gesture of submission and respect.

“No middle name?” Lord Black continued the interrogation and on Tristan’s confirmation. “Why?”

“I wasn’t deemed worthy, I guess…” Tristan shrugged.

Slowly, Lord Arcturus Black stood up, straightening to full size and beginning to circle Tristan. “So, if I recall correctly… A child, so insignificant, its family refuses to provide for it, a failure in the academic field, a second son without means to achieve anything in this world, and above all, unworthy of even a middle name, appears at my grandson’s doorstep, asking for support? Expects the Most Ancient and Noble House Black to… what?”

“Nothing, Sir” Tristan assured. “I need neither support nor provision. I care for myself.” Ironically, close contact with his father had given him the means to speak clearly and controlled, even in near-panic. “I didn’t ask for the oath. I… complied.”

“Then” the older man asked, his voice dripping poison “I ask you, why did my grandson wish for it?”

Tristan straightened himself and gritted out defiantly. “It seems, I am to blame, after all. He meant to protect me with all means necessary. He would never have gone against your wishes and he intends to keep his promises and fulfill his duties.” He breathed heavily at the end of the sentence, but managed to stay upright and seemingly composed.

Arcturus demeanor changed noticeably, back from the arrogant, brutally harsh Lord to the more amiable, almost relatable grandfather. He was still commanding respect, still larger-than-life, still… dangerous, but less prone to showing it. “You may go.”

Tristan took care to bid his farewell correctly and not to rush out of the room.

\----

“Sit down, Regulus” It was strikingly obvious, Arcturus was in good mood. He even handed him one of the tiny teacups that probably ranged higher in his appreciation than most of the relatives, filled with a fragrant golden liquid.

“I realize, you have chosen wisely. The boy is responsible, controlled and fiercely loyal. Intelligent. A valuable asset.” Regulus didn’t like the way, his grandfather stated the facts, nor the kind of actions that would necessarily follow, but still an odd kind of pride spread in his chest.

“I wouldn’t dare, disappoint you” he said, concealing as much of both reactions as possible.

His grandfather’s approving nod didn’t give any hint on his successes. “Tell me about him.”

So he did. Nothing to incriminating of course. But still a more detailed description than before. It wasn’t enough. Arcturus asked questions, specified his interests. Sometimes, his mouth twitched, a signature move, Regulus had often seen in Sirius, too, and knew, that at least for his older brother, it usually was a tell-tale sign for a proper fit.

Only… Arcturus had probably never had a fit in his whole life. He had… discussions. And maybe consequences. In the end, sipping on the tea, and listening, he allowed Regulus a few questions of himself.

The younger Black hesitated, then asked: “There is one thing, I don’t understand. If you disapprove his family’s treatment of him. Why hurting him further?” He gestured for the signet ring on Arcturus hand. He remembered the morning, and how they had checked Tristan’s neck, but didn’t find any remains, of Arcturus assault.

Lord Black’s lips curled in a firmly controlled smile. “I found it prudent to include him into the Black wards. It would be unfortunate to find him at peril, if he needed a safe haven, wouldn’t you think?” Regulus remained silent, feeling very stupid. Of course. The wards, all the literally bloody wards. Without Tristan’s blood, Tristan’s magical signature, they would never recognize him as valid.

Sometimes Regulus was more than happy, he wasn’t Lord yet. Sometimes part of him hoped, he never would be. The role model, Arcturus gave him, was simply out of reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, Arcturus is definitely my favorite "bad" character... I hope, you like him too...


	42. The summon of creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort requires a house elf. And we all know, what that means...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are very, very close to my complete break off from canon now. Until now, there was only an added char and a few age discrepancies... soon... well, I wrote it yesterday, so you will have to wait a few more days... I am very excited...

Regulus was back at Grimmault Place, when the Mark started burning. After the near perfection of the previous day, the effect of its activity was devastating. He didn’t want to go now. He wanted to go back to school, back to Tristan. He wanted to…

Being summoned left him no choice, though. The pull of the cursed thing was irresistible. The pain alone tested the restraint and sanity of any man, but it was the grip, it had on one’s soul that turned it truly devious. It felt like he didn’t own himself anymore. As if he was a mere extension of the Dark Lord’s wishes and had to obey or be wiped not only from existence, but even from memory.

Maybe the Mark grew stronger over time. Maybe the Dark Lords power rose. Or maybe Tristan’s existence and the bond they shared sensitized him to the terrible experience. Whatever it was, he knew, it would be hard to resist, if the evil bastard ever tried to call him, after he was presumed dead. Or if he was affected by a general call. The Mark enslaved all its bearers to life in submission…

Determinedly Regulus shielded his mind. There was no use in being caught red-handed now. He exhaled one last time and apparated, literally prepared for everything, including a death sentence.

The funny thing was, though, if you prepared for the worst, it never happened. The Dark Lord welcomed him more or less alone, although he could hear other death eaters around. Cousin Bellatrix laughter for instance was nigh unmistakable and carried far.

“Regulus Black… It’s a pleasure to see you in good health” the Dark Lord drawled and gestured for him to take a seat. “I am intrigued that you prefer to continue your education over more exciting tasks…”

He didn’t seem angry or annoyed, so Regulus shrugged and answered: “I figured, it is preferable to have at least some well-educated wizards around. And since I am hardly suitable as… enforcer, I strive to make myself useful in other ways.”

“Ah…” The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and smiled dangerously content. “That leads me to the reason for your summon. I shall require your house elf. Instruct him to obey to my orders.”

The mask of joviality fell away like a sheet of soggy paper, leaving just the image of mad amusement and cold ambition. Regulus suppressed a shiver and bowed his head slightly. Enough to feed the Dark Lord’s vanity without humiliating himself. “I shall summon and talk to him immediately” he assured and left the room, breathing forcedly normal, while his heart tried to flee his chest.

Maybe he had had it all wrong. The worst still might happen, no matter how well he prepared. With how little the Dark Lord cared for the life of his actual pure-blood followers, his need for a house elf equaled a death sentence. Only not for him. Again, the Dark Lord’s tendency to humiliate him, proved a serious problem. And this time, he would cost him dearly. It would cost him Kreacher.

There was no way to safe him now, though, no way short of getting tortured to death himself. He would have to hope, the resourcefulness of the uncommonly independent elf would help him. He told him so, told him, he dreaded the task, told him, he wouldn’t expect it of him, if he had a choice. Told him, to cheat death, if possible. And told him, to come home immediately after performing the task the Dark Lord demanded of him.

It was a weak wager, more like a deed of desperation, but it was all, Regulus could do, as he sent him off to fulfill the evil bastard’s wishes. “Good luck, Kreacher…” he whispered, as he turned to take his leave, so the house elf’s sacrifice would at least not be in vain.

\----

They were waiting. Both of them. Sirius and Remus. It was a wonder, they hadn’t alarmed Moody or James too. They were sitting in a small café near the agreed meeting point and tried to look disinterested. They failed.

The obscure combination of Sirius’ nonchalant leather-clad bad boy charisma and Remus’ relaxed respectability alone made for a ridiculous effect. In a way, they were just as bad a misfit as him and Regulus. And in a way, they worked just as well. Sirius, of course, was already on the edge again and would have sprung into action and made a scene the moment, he recognized Tristan’s reappearance (a good thing really, they didn’t directly apparate to this place), while Remus tried not only to cool him down but also to make up for his more than likely shouting, even before it happened.

It was impossible to miss that sight and so Tristan just stepped over the street and into the café’s sitting room. Before he could pull himself a chair to their table, Sirius couldn’t be stopped anymore. “You are…”

He checked the time at the Muggle clock on the wall, while Remus completed the sentence slightly annoyed: “Absolutely on time, Sirius. It is fine.”

Said Black rose from his seat and growled: “It’s not fine. I don’t trust any of those backstabbing, lying, self-serving rabble. There is no saying, they didn’t catch and polyjuice him!”

Tristan tilted his head and sighed. “Ask me something. Something, I wouldn’t know. Hell, verita me, for all I care. It is fine. I met Regulus, I am back. It is fine.”

Sirius was not so easily appeased. He pulled Tristan closer and forced him to sit down. “Ok… few questions. 1. Where did we meet you first? 2. What does ‘hunter’ say? And 3. What did you show Remus, when he showed you his…?”

It was so absurd, he had to smile. “1. I have no idea, because you didn’t even notice me until 4. Year, but you refer to the old classroom for Defense near the Gryffindor tower. 2. ‘Constant vigilance’, which is not much of a secret. And 3. Good attempt, but I won’t tell you.” He exchanged a smile with Remus, who smiled right back.

“That’s him, definitely. No spy would be so cheeky on you.”

Sirius fought back with all his stubbornness. “He could still be turned.”

That one had Tristan finally snorting. “And with what exactly? Pain? Emotional torture? Death threats?” He had all that readily available and Gryffindor knew that, full well. “I’ve been with your brother for two years, one of which he was marked. And I am still here. On the contrary: he wants out. Why would I want in?”

“He is lying to you…” Sirius claimed, now on pure principle. “He will stop with that shit, when Avalon freezes over.”

Remus exchanged another look and smile with Tristan, murmuring: “It seems to me, we’ll get a cold winter though…”

\----

Regulus lay on his bed, brooding and nursing his grudge on the Dark Lord, without any idea, what to do about it. It was strikingly clear this man was no good for any of them, not the muggleborn and half-bloods obviously, but neither for pure-blood society. He played them all and spit on their values and traditions.

For him they were only another set of pawns, willingly presented by their own families as payment for _the hopes of a future as glorious as the past. Regulus could see that now. And it only just cost him a_ good part of his dignity and pride, of his soul and good conscience and lately his personal house elf. Soon it would also cost him his life, if he didn’t manage to pull something off, no one had allegedly even attempted yet.

Just, when he was about to go into another round on the merry-go-round of thoughts, he felt a soft tug, followed by a rush of sympathy in his mind. It was so little, yet made him feel so much better, it was strange.

But even better was the sudden, harsh crack, as a very, very ragged Kreacher appeared out of thin air and stumbled into his arms, his small, bony body limp and weak, the skin torn in several places, the eyes dull and empty, yet alive, still alive!

Regulus didn’t waste time, thinking about adequacy or worth. Without thinking, he scooped the small body up and placed it on his bed, casting basic healing spells and checking feverishly, what else could be done to ensure Kreacher’s survival.

“Master not waste time on Kreacher” the house elf croaked, his little fists clenched into the rag covering his body in pain. It was more of an automatic response than a real plead or demand. Yet, self-abandon was so ingrained into any house-elf it always took precedence.

But Regulus wouldn’t let it stand. This was _his_ house elf, _his_ responsibility. He wouldn’t let the Dark Lord win, he wouldn’t let Kreacher die. With shivering hands he fed the small servant first water, then a healing potion and after that whatever else he could safely apply, without making it worse. He wished, Tristan was present, he would know, what to do, while Regulus knowledge only covered basic first aid. But it was too late for such considerations, Tristan couldn’t apparate and he didn’t even know, where he was, just now.

So he tried to remember all the knowledge that had passively seeped into him from offhand mentions or glances over one of Tristan’s books and made do with that, until some color came back to Kreachers unhealthily pale skin.

After that, all he could do, was curse and wait and have another good brooding session, this time with a whole different set of questions.

\----

It took hours for Kreacher to come to, once the adrenalin wore off and his little body settled for healing. Regulus had tried to watch, knowing Tristan, one developed some bedside manners, but he was simply too tired. Not wanting to disturb the house elf, because he wouldn’t stay down, once he noticed, he was occupying Regulus’ bed, he settled into an armchair and fell asleep soon enough.

He woke up again to Kreacher’s lament on how “Master can’t neglect himself like that.” An unexpected wave of fondness of the small servant hit Regulus. He had just cheated an almost certain death, Regulus had submitted him to and still cared more about his master than himself. It was endearingly sad.

“Kreacher, stop it. I am fine” he said only halfway annoyed and studied the house elf with great care. “Are you alright though?”

Kreacher hopped impatiently from one leg to the other and hurried to assure him: “Kreacher good, Kreacher ready to serve. What can Kreacher do for Master Regulus?” His voice still cracked on longer sentences and he sounded feeble and hoarse, but it was a start.

“You can do some resting and then, you can report, what exactly the Dark Lord expected from you, and what happened then.” He knew, it was a mistake. Of course it was a mistake. Give a house elf an order and he will spring into action, no matter, how much you try to slow him down.

“Couse, Master Regulus, Kreacher do, Master Regulus” the house elf exclaimed, grimly happy, there was something else to do than handle the pain. With determination he straightened up and told Regulus, what he knew. It was both disappointingly little and alarmingly much.

Whatever the Dark Lord was up to, he had clearly intended Kreacher’s death, so his secret would be safe. But, having no house elf of his own, he must have underestimated the loyalty and strength they could provide on occasion. Which meant, now he, Regulus Black knew, he had something to hide, something so incredibly dark, it thrived in such an environment and so terribly important to the Dark Lord, he hid it in such hideous way.

Some words, the evil bastard had uttered, not directly at Kreacher, but in his earshot and now dutifully retold to his true Master, had Regulus thinking, what it might be. “Another body to hold watch over my eternity…” It was a good thing, he did not yet have to feign his death, for this asked for extended research in the Black library.

“Stay around, Kreacher, recover. I will call for you, when I need you” he commanded, straightening his ruffled clothes and headed for the room, that at this time, and with Orion ill, would lie empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the conversation between Sirius and Tristan... It was sooo fun to write. But I will never know, if it was fun to read, if you don't tell me ;)


	43. Walls crumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is at a breaking point, Regulus has no idea, what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... major computer crash yesterday... No idea, what this will do to my writing schedule, but thanks to EvilKiwi and SO, there will be updates still. (You are the best)  
> Have fun, everybody.

New Year’s Eve was a drab affair this year. They had spent all their celebratory mood on Christmas and now, before the year’s turn, all the atrocities of the past months came crashing back onto them. Lily went to bed early, and the Marauders sat there in silence, emptying their glasses from time to time mostly in silence.

After some time, James raised his, and exclaimed gloomily: “To absent friends.” The other’s joined, and although Tristan’s glass only contained pumpkin juice, he felt entitled to partake in that one. Just thinking of last year, made everyone hurt. The raids, they countered, the people, who died or disappeared, the fears, the anger… the hurt.

Tristan drew closer to Remus and asked him for a walk, if only to escape the suffocating dread, hanging over all of their heads. He was glad, when Remus nodded and stood up and followed him, taking both their coats with him, he was less happy, when Sirius did the same, probably only to spite him, because he was still mad about the whole Regulus thing.

As usual for the times, when he wanted to speak with the werewolf, Sirius transformed into Padfoot as soon as they stepped outside. But Tristan knew better, than to trust the temporary peace. The dog was never far away and had a good sense of hearing. It wouldn’t pay to speak to openly.

That was rather unfortunate for now… He really needed some advice on Moody’s book, as he understood everything he could access by now and had no idea, how to unlock the rest of it. Maybe Remus would tell him to leave it altogether. That would be fine too; he was a man to respect choices. But there was no saying, how Sirius would react, especially in the light of the rites, Tristan had performed, each of them in best intention, but none of them going quite the way, he expected. Maybe it was better to start with a different topic first, so Sirius might get bored and distracted…

“I might leave school at the end of the term.” It was as good a start as any. They had refused his offer to join them several times, but now he had an alternative, and Remus didn’t know yet, he had no intention to use it.

“Not again, Tris. You stay were you are. It’s simply safer…” Remus objected with forced patience. “Besides, where would you go?”

He grinned. “I saved up some. And if I actually got paid what they pay those snobbish healers at St. Mungos…”

Remus snorted. “It’s getting old, and you know it. They have a full education, certificates, everything…” And yes, of course they had had this discussion before… So if Remus had been paying attention…

“Now, that you mention it…” Tristan told him about the offered apprenticeship with rising glee. He really didn’t want to go, but it was a nice leverage. Maybe the order would give him some other options now…

It wasn’t Remus though, but Sirius, who answered to that. Covering up concern with anger he argued: “You know, that Avicen and Ascolip offer their services to all those posh, pure-blood supremacist death eater families? You got a death wish?”

Tristan smirked and licked his lips before answering smugly: “It’s not, like I have been offered much of an alternative…” For a moment, he felt really good, he had the upper hand. Until he remembered that this was not quite the topic he had actually hoped to discuss. “I haven’t talked to them about conditions yet…” he admitted much less happy and sighed. “But I feel, another year of school will help no one… And it’s not as safe as you might think… Regulus still protects me. And he will be gone next year, one way or the other.”

“Not again…” Sirius groaned. “I told you: not interested.”

This opened another tough discussion, reiterating everything said before. Another set of accusations, another few punches not quite below the waistline, carefully avoiding to leave scorched earth between them. To be honest, Tristan was surprised at some point, Sirius bothered.

If he thought Regulus truly lost, and found Tristan unable to leave it, why in Salazar’s name didn’t he just back of and tell them both to go to hell? And why did Remus so carefully not take sides? Of course they didn’t talk about the rituals. But they managed to stay friends, to reconcile, right before the year’s change. Maybe they could hope for a better new year. It would have been unbearable to be left behind.

\-----

It was supposed to be the day he got back to Hogwarts. He was supposed to pack and get ready, so one of the Order’s members could dump him right at the front gates. The day was supposed to have no highs or lows.

Instead he waited and waited and no one came. When by the fall of darkness James eventually turned up, his hair full of dried blood, he didn’t hesitate. Leaving his stuff behind, he got apparated to the muggle train station and small community the death eaters had laid to waste.

By now it was a sad routine to set up his space, clean some place just enough to allow his work, shielded by some walls, but outside, only protected by warming charms, so the Order could get people in and out easily, to be sorted, treated and obliviated, when necessary. He knew each step by heart and managed in record time.

If someone could spare the time, they would put up some wards, but with death eaters still in the area, it was more than likely, he would mostly work alone. A simple proximity alert would have to do.

Then he started, as the injured came in, sometimes carried by members of the Order, sometimes on their own feet, alone or in groups, directed by the order. Today he didn’t get to see the bad cases… There were so many, they had to let some go to safe the others.

\----

When Regulus stepped of the train, Tris wasn’t there, as he always had been. It left him uneasy. At first, he was angry and felt betrayed. After their meeting with Lord Black he had assumed, they were back in good graces and now Tristan didn’t even make an appearance?

But the longer he thought about it, the less likely it seemed. When he entered the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast and his lover still wasn’t present, anger gave way to an increasing amount of worry.

Again and again he checked the bond. It felt cold and numbed, as if Tristan was trying to hide something from him, but still radiated sorrow and fear, frantic activity and grave concentration. No. No… not again. Not now, that he should be with him. Not now, when Regulus had escaped the Dark Lords grasp for yet another term.

Angry, concerned, restless really, he left the feast as soon as it was possible and paced through empty corridors, until it was time for bed. He returned to the Slytherin dungeon and his prefect room, no more quiet nor at ease than before, but flopped on the bed anyways, because there was literally nothing else to do.

It was then, that he noticed Tristan’s presence back close to him. To close, in fact. Confused he stepped out into the corridor to the common room again, just in time to see the little one abandoning all caution. A dead expression on his face he stepped through the outer door, not even pretending to need someone else’s help with the password (which was disturbing on its own, he didn’t get it from Regulus) or trying to conceal his entrance.

He ignored the few dirty and more widespread appreciative looks he got and headed straight for the dorms, where he couldn’t yet see Regulus waiting.

Once the older boy came into view, he shrank where he stood but stumbled closer anyways, torn between his need for closeness and the ingrained pure-blood composure.

Regulus relieved him of that conundrum by grabbing his hand and dragging him into his room, but it didn’t help much. Out of the public view, Tris fell into his embrace, but remained then almost unmoving, the face alternating between expressions of pain and forced inexpressiveness.

“It’s ok…” Regulus whispered, stroking his hair. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” No matter, what it was, no matter, what it would take to make it real. “Let go, it’s ok.”

He was still aghast, when Tristan started crying out of nowhere, sobbing, shivering and all, his restraint wiped away.

“Talk to me” he pleaded soothingly, but it took a long time, before the smaller boy could.

Still streaked with tears, his breath hitching from time to time, his voice stumbling through the words, he explained, as much as he could, without spilling too many secrets: “I… I was working… after some… catastrophe.” Even the few words made him pant like after a long run.

Regulus figured what kind of catastrophe he was referring to and began to ask himself, why the still bothered to keep appearances about their roles on either side of this war. He didn’t interrupt though; Tristan had a hard enough time, figuring it out without his additions.

“It… got late, and then… Someone came. I was… I thought…” He shook his head helplessly and swallowed hard. “There was a flash of green… And then… there was a muggle… I had just patched’m up, he wasn’t obliviated yet. I kind of… worked on his wife or something… I guess.” He closed his eyes, as another series of sobs wreaked havoc in his chest.

Regulus held him through it and waited. By now, he had some ideas, where this was going and it made the actual story only worse.

“He shoved me out of the way… and it… it hit him… square in the back… I… I didn’t even know his name… and he… he was dead. He died. Because of me. For me. And… I didn’t even know his name.” In desperation Tristan pulled at his hair and clenched his fists, until the knuckles were pure white and small flowers of pain bloomed through the bond. “I was careless and he died.”

‘You could have died’ Regulus’ screamed inside his head. ‘I could’ve lost you.’ He didn’t say it. Instead he asked: “Who was it? Did they get him?”

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he got away.”

Regulus mind raced, as he analyzed the situation. “Did he see you? Clearly?” Another shrug did nothing to appease his worries. He resisted the urge to shake Tristan, to shout at him and to pester him with questions.

It was no use. Even, if he had seen something, he was far to shocked to remember it. No matter… if word reached the Dark Lord, he would have to speed up his plans. If it wasn’t to late already… Lucius Malfoy would have a field day.

“Tris?” He tried to get hold of his face and make him meet his gaze. “Tris.”

The smaller boy still panted heavily, the eyes blown wide, but he was coherent again, albeit barely.

“You stay with me tonight, ok?” He didn’t care at all, if he was associated with the little one. He would always find some excuse and it wasn’t as if he had the best standing among death eaters anyways. He would manage. But the mere thought, they had found out, what he did and were out to punish him for it, made his skin crawl.

No matter, what, he wouldn’t take no for an answer anymore. He needed him back in his protection… and he already had nightmares about the day, he was about to disappear. He needed him safe…

Just then, Tristan gritted out harshly: “It’s not like the first time I was seen doing… stuff… I guess, they know me all too well by now…” The sound of pure resignation left Regulus speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate, that it's always those scenes, that I feel, i can do best. But deep emotion is just... good. Well, either that, or I am a sadist/masochist as a writer... don't know ;)


	44. Castles of sand and sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Regulus try to make plans for their future...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned, I hate retyping from handwritten stuff? Doing this a lot right now... But: at least for now, I keep going...

Once again, sleeping close to Tris cleared his head like nothing else. The slow rise and fall of his chest under Regulus’ hand, once he had found some rest, the familiar smell, the warmth he radiated, all added to a feeling of comfort, but it was the bond, fed by close proximity that completed the experience.

For once Regulus was absolute at peace with himself. The people important to him were safe, at least for the time being… He had done nothing bad anymore. On the contrary, he had against all odds managed to safe Kreacher. And maybe the information he received from the house elf would even give him the means to end the Dark Lord and this undignified slaughter.

He marveled in the feeling, knowing, it wasn’t meant to last. Soon enough Tristan would wake up and stand up, go for class and leave him on his own again. Hell, since when had he become so dependent? Absent-mindedly he played with the unruly hair, just long enough for this ridiculous little pony tail, caressing his jawline, whenever it got free. It always seemed too messy, but unlike Potter’s that had had a similar tendency to defy any attempt to tame it, it made him look vulnerable, sweet… endearing.

For a while he allowed him to think about nothing else but all the things, he loved. The golden lights flickering over the brown locks, the pale skin, the innocence, he still at times found in Tristan’s eyes, the guarded wisdom, you found, once you started listening to him.

As if this had been the pause his thoughts needed to figure it out, a sudden revelation hit him. He guessed, what Voldemort had done. He had an idea, what was hidden in the cave, Kreacher described him. He realized… He had read about it, another obscurely dark magic, but of complete opposite composition than the oath, evil, ignorant, brutal and insanely selfish.

He couldn’t know, of course, never would, unless he could retrieve the item, but if his guess was good enough, there was a bigger problem than just disappearing until the war was over and the waves had calmed. If he had it right, the war wouldn’t end. It would go on and on and on, until there was nothing left to conquer or defend…

\----

Ever since he started going out on the battlefield with the Marauders, ever since he had to assume, death eaters other than Lucius had suspicions about him, Tristan had awaited an attack. Now, that it had eventually happened, he wasn’t so much shaken about the fact…

He wasn’t really afraid of death, especially not one so clean and fast as the killing curse. It was the circumstances that left him speechless. That he hadn’t even seen it coming. That it had after all been his mistake. That someone else had died for him. Never before someone had even got hexed on his behalf and now…

The face of the man remained etched into his memory: the strange determination, frozen into his face by means of an unforgivable, the soft thud of his impact, almost too silent. Guilt was a terribly accurate magnifying glass.

It recalled every single thing he might have done or not done to avoid the very situation. How he could have asked for someone to set up real wards. How he could have moved the moment he felt someone get closer. How he could have… yeah, what… the woman he treated needed him just then. It all came back to one thing. He wasn’t any good at a battlefield and his limitations wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed to figure something out… And he had a certain feeling, that something could only be found in Moody’s book.

If only he could find a way to open all the pages. Or at least… more of them. The true night… He wasn’t any closer to solving this specific conundrum, but decided to give it another try anyways.

Hiding behind the curtains of his bed was a terribly inadequate way to ensure privacy, but somehow it sufficed. His dorm mates had learnt fast, not to disturb him, after one of them had tried to jokingly scare him and had to be patched up afterwards, because his small knife for ingredients was nothing, if not _sharp_. Since then they very politely asked. From outside. Thoroughly ignoring the non-existence of wards.

Thinking of it, he played with the little thing that looked more like a toy than an actual weapon. He never went without it anywhere anymore… Not since Carrow. Not since the oath. It was so much easier to access than the muggle knife, he got from Lily.

After some time, he eyed the book again, the small tome that even unshrunk was barely more than 5 inch square, and lay in his lap so seemingly innocent, but was anything but. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? He had to try though.

He cut a small nip into his thumb and pressed out a drop of blood, applying it to the seal that kept him from reading further. It didn’t unlock. Of course not. If it had been that simple, Moody’s hint wouldn’t have made any sense. And he would have felt incredibly dumb. But a small portion at the backside of the book had opened, ready to be inspected.

Tristan opened the pages with reluctance, but then decided to dig in. Knowledge itself wasn’t evil, only its application. And he never knew, what he might find.

\----

Sitting back in class left Regulus with several unpleasant revelations.

The foremost was obvious. He didn’t care about school anymore. All it provided, was a temporary shield from the Dark Lord’s influence, if a flimsy one. He didn’t expect, not to be summoned sooner or later. He didn’t expect to finish his NEWTs, no matter, what Voldemort had promised. He didn’t think, it would do him any good in the time coming either. Whatever he needed in the near or even far future, wasn’t to be found in Hogwarts’ classrooms. Especially not from the lips of his teachers. The library might still be worth a shot or two though.

The second felt more painful. With Tristan out of sight, he could no longer deny, he wouldn’t be able to protect him. Joining the death eaters hadn’t done either of them any good, and by now, even his presence wouldn’t help much anymore, if someone truly wanted to end him.

It was strange: the smaller boy had always told him about the danger. He had never really believed in it. But now, visualizing an actual killing curse thrown at his lover’s back, he had to quit playing dumb and start working with the facts.

And one of those facts was unfortunately that the bond wasn’t helping. It only made everything more painful, as it forced him to face the bitter reality. He had disappointed so many times. All the fears, all the pains, Tristan had kept so well hidden, echoed back to him and slowly but surely stripped down his self-perception. He hated to be faced with his failures like that. And still, running his fingers along the silvery scar reassured him inexplicably.

No matter the mistakes of the past, Tristan had still decided, he was worth it. Tristan was still there. He had still something to lose.

That led to his last insight. He needed to get his hands on the item, the Dark Lord had tried to hide. He had to find out, if his suspicions were true. And if so, he had to find a way to destroy the thing… Maybe the library was a good idea, after all. It might not be as complete as the Black library, but had the distinct advantage of being available.

The class ended and he headed for his next lessons… double potions with Professor Slughorn.

Slughorn, who had more or less admitted, he had once told a student about Dark Arts… which had gone terribly wrong. Would it be too far a shot to assume…

Leverage. He would need lots of leverage. And after his last attempt Slughorn would be much more careful. With someone firmly decided on his loyalties it would have been easy, he might have even revealed his hand – at least partly – but you could not be sure with someone like Slughorn. You never knew where he was headed.

\----

Despite Regulus insistence, Tristan had decided to not join him in his room again. He preferred not to tempt destiny more than necessary and the public of the Ravenclaw dorm seemed a better precaution against death eater attacks than Regulus prefect room. Especially, when they were after both their blood.

Besides… it had its perks to retain some privacy, even if it was just a flimsy bed curtain. Respect did the rest anyways.

The downside was, they were back to meeting in cold and uncomfortable classrooms. Their new favorite was an abandoned one not too far from the great hall, allowing them to slip in and out during the day, when necessary. Them both caring little about classes anymore helped immensely in meeting without raising much suspicion, for it was easier to slip away for a short moment and be late for class than to get away completely.

For evenings though, they still met in the history classroom. It was a little warmer than the rest and no ghost ever bothered to disturb Binns’ little refuge. There Tristan slipped almost too easily into Regulus’ waiting arms and leaned against him, there he could ask all the questions that took more than a few minutes time.

“What are you going to do after your NEWTs?” he asked, already suspecting, it might not even come to that. Regulus was brooding over something.

“I don’t know…” the older boy answered a little too fast to be fully truthful. On Tristan’s accusatory look he added: “I’ll try to disappear. You?”

This game was for more than one… Tristan grinned. “Not coming back. An apprenticeship maybe? Fighting perhaps.”

It spoke volumes about Regulus preoccupation, who long it took him to understand, he was baited. He furrowed his brow and growled: “You can’t just leave without your degree.”

The smaller boy shrugged. “Does it matter? It won’t be safe anymore. And there is nothing here to keep me.”

What was there to say? Regulus didn’t know, obviously. Tristan didn’t either. After a while, running his fingers over the lines of his lover’s robes he added: “I could go with you.”

“That’s…” He could see, how the younger Black’s expression changed from annoyed to thoughtful. “I will need to prepare.”

“Like you prepared for the rite?” Tristan mocked, knowing, he was deliberately mean. On Regulus much too guilty look, he climbed down: “It might be best to combine our efforts?”

“And then what?” Regulus countered heatedly? “You go off, playing hero and get yourself killed?”

It didn’t hit the target. He didn’t look hurt. Just sad. “As much as everybody else. Like… your brother… for example.”

Regulus face petrified. “I won’t talk about Sirius. He went off somewhere, he’s on his own. He chose James Potter over his family. Over me.”

With a sigh Tris took his hands. “You are on your own too, once you disappear. Or would be. If I hadn’t chose you over mine.”

“It’s not…” Regulus stopped this thin argument, before he could disgrace himself even more with it. Of course it wasn’t the same. But it wasn’t so much of a difference either. He watched Tris for a long time and then said: “Let me think about it, ok? Maybe it’s not the worst idea… But I need to figure something out first.”

Tristan shook his head. “That won’t do anymore. You told me: no more secrets. And you were right. Talk to me.”

To his surprise, Regulus did. He told him about the summon during the holidays, about Kreacher’s task and his near-death, about the bad feelings, the suspicions, he had. He told him, what he was looking for and how he intended to find it. And how, if only half his fears were right, he needed to get into the cave, to destroy, what was in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know: bit of a filler... but I needed that... Bit of bonding time ;)   
> IF I was more disciplined... But then again: you might like that too...


	45. Good cop and bad cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan talks his way in and out of difficulties, Regulus is less forgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is little hope for my laptop, so for now, we have to do without and rely on the chapters, I already did and my handwriting skills. I see typist's cramp ahead...

Thinking was so much easier, once he stopped doing it all alone. Even when Tristan didn’t have much to add, even using him as an echo chamber helped. And from time to time his insights were more than just helpful. They bordered brilliant. The only thing, holding him back from being the perfect Slytherin, neck-to-neck with Regulus was his conscience getting in the way to often.

He stopped on questions, the Black brother simply didn’t ask. Is it fair? Is it right? Can I bear responsibility for someone’s demise? It was as tiring as it was difficult. Sometimes only long trained restraint prevented Regulus from shaking him violently to get such useless ideas out of his head. Life wasn’t fair… and the other side wouldn’t be either. So why bother?

He still informed him about his plans, Merlin knew why.

“Slughorn? You need something on Slughorn?” Tristan grinned almost deviously. There was no love lost between him and the Professor. “I might… be able to help. Tell him, I am willing to talk about the conditions of the offer and get him out of that. On the condition that he answers your questions, of course.”

“What offer?” Regulus questioned warily and was more than surprised, when Tristan explained. It was understandable that Slughorn wasn’t exactly happy to have the healers breathing down his neck. They had a reputation to be rather ruthless in pursuit of their wishes. He didn’t get though, what they would want from Tris. And he tended to doubt, it was something good. He still remembered the younger boy’s panic attack after meeting one of them first.

The smaller boy agreed on that, but pointed out, they would never know, if they weren’t willing to listen. With a small shiver he added: “I’d prefer not to go alone, though.”

Regulus would have been a fool not to agree to that.

\----

There were four of them and they weren’t used to being secretive. First of all, it was unusual to see three Slytherin and a Ravenclaw standing together like this without previous history of slowly growing friendship. And then, they looked much too excited for their seemingly relaxed stance. Of course it was also suspicious, how they made a point not to look at Tristan, while he passed, but couldn’t resist giving quick glances, whenever they felt safe enough.

It was as good a warning, as he would get. He cursed internally and calculated all possible escape routes, ruling them out one by one. Too long, not safe enough, questionable help at the end point… It was damn unfortunate that they had decided to make their move while he was on his way to the potions classroom.

Much too far from both the infirmary and the headmaster’s office. Too far from most teacher studies too. Only Slughorn was available and Tristan didn’t trust his ability and willingness to help. This left him with very few options. Outrun them, hoping for a lucky encounter, lay out a trap, hoping, they were as cautious as they were inconspicuous, or fight and make enough of a ruckus, someone might feel pressured to come and see, what happened.

Since they hadn’t made a move yet, he decided on the first option, turning around a corner, he had not quite intended just minutes ago, heading for the stairs back up into the castle, once he was out of direct sight, he sped up immediately, until he reached full running speed.

Unfortunately they had already started to go after him and heard his footfalls, so they hunted him along the corridor. And they knew the area just as good as he did, so he couldn’t outsmart them. Damn, did the evil bastard really use students now? He would find out soon enough, as a simple tripping hex was his undoing. It wasn’t even well-placed or good, just thrown around a corner, before they could even see him clearly. Bad luck again, and buy now, he should have accounted for that. He started to get the feeling, that using Dark Magic, even in the best of intentions had left him cursed somehow.

He couldn’t throw off the hex and fell to the ground, helplessly struggling with it, until they reached him and put him into a stronger incarcerous to drag him off into an unused classroom. It was strange though. Once they had actual time to think, having him all safe, the room silenced and warded, they paused, as if they didn’t really know, what to do.

“What…” he exclaimed, very much trying to suppress a laughter. “Now you have me; and don’t know, what to do?” He didn’t exactly want to give them hints, but it was too ridiculous, not to point out. “You haven’t even figured, how to get me out of the castle?”

One of the Slytherins kicked him in the ribs and growled furiously: “You hold your tongue, blood traitor. My father saw you with the aurors, saving muggles…” He spit it out like an insult, but Tristan couldn’t help but smirk. This was incredibly inconvenient… but he knew, how to get the upper hand and keep it… For the moment he remained silent and waited, and true enough, soon they got nervous.

“We have Transfiguration next…” one of the Slytherins, he classified as followers, uttered nervously, adding: “McGonagall will flay us alive, if we are late.” The Ravenclaw, who seemed to be the brains of the operation, as far as brain went, waved them off. “No problem. I can stay, until you are back.”

The other possible leader, a sixth year Slytherin Tristan knew only by sight, hesitated for a moment, but another reassurance sent him away too. After their leave, the room became soon uncomfortably silent, as the ever-shifting posture of his guardian easily revealed. Tristan allowed himself to relax in the bindings, cooling his breathing and assessing the actual damage of the kick, before he made his move.

“Are you marked?” he asked, keeping his voice cool, but friendly.

The Ravenclaws eyes shoot up to his. He was in Regulus’ year and had once been one of Tristan’s tormentors. Now, after two years of gaining confidence and composure even under battle conditions, his threatening gaze did nothing for the younger boy. “Shut up!” didn’t work either.

“I just mean… where do you fit in this?” He shrugged awkwardly, hindered by the bindings. “Can’t image the bastard giving you bunch the job…” He saw the flinch on that moniker and didn’t regret it any, even though it earned him another kick. “What? It wasn’t exactly a full success, until now, was it? What in Mordred’s name was the idea?”

The Ravenclaw growled wordlessly and tried to raise Tristan from the ground by his collar. “Shut up!”

Tristan indulged him, for about two minutes, watching in silence, as his words did their dirty work. On the clear signs of nervousness he continued: “You didn’t plan this, did you? Trust it to Slytherins to get you into trouble…”

“You were friends with Slytherins, too… You practically lived in the dungeon…” the Ravenclaw countered, clearly more upset and less angry than before.

Tristan nodded sympathetically. “Thus I rest my case.”

For a very long time, the words echoed, inaudibly, then the older boy kicked him again, this time for attention, rather than pain. “Is it true, though?”

Tristan gave him a sorry look. “What? That I have friends with very little sympathy for his evilness? Or that I’m friends with Slytherins, who aren’t exactly known for their humor? Or that you botched this fucking job and if you ever make it back to him, he won’t even thank you, because you didn’t ask for permission first?” He panted a second and continued urgently. “Or that you will get yourself killed, if you try to join him?”

It wasn’t any of the answers, the Ravenclaw had expected. “Are you trying to threaten me?” he asked baffled, but Tristan shook his head.

“Warn you. Offer an escape route maybe…” Tristan sighed, as if the other was bound, not him. And in a way, it was. The initial panic had fully worn off and by now, he was fully aware, they stood no chance to get him out of Hogwarts. Sooner or later someone would miss him. And Regulus could tell, he wasn’t away. If he managed to stay alive…

“Why would I want that?” the other boy drawled, adding swagger, just to conceal his insecurity. He wasn’t good at faking.

“Because I don’t care any, what you do with your life, once we have this sorted out. End the spell, let me deal with your Slytherin friends. You are out, they get a slap on their fingers, everyone lives.”

An hour could be an awfully long time for thinking.

\----

Regulus tried to enter the room, but it was closed and warded, which left him confused. Tris couldn’t ward and wouldn’t bother asking someone else. But he felt much too smug for just an innocent stroll through the dungeons.

Frowning he dispelled the wards on after the other and then stepped into the room as if he owned it. A shocked Ravenclaw turned, his face a mask of terror. “Who in Merlin’s…”

He didn’t get further, before Regulus’ stunner hit him, as he noticed Tristan on the floor and in summoned ropes. “Will you please stop it?” the smaller boy exclaimed and sighed. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

Regulus grumbled a “Finite incantatem” and then couldn’t decide, who he wanted to pummel first. “Merlin’s sagging balls, what is going on here?”

The Ravenclaw stammered, while Tris sat up and started to stretch, as if he had been bound for quite some time. “He was just giving up, Regulus. Please don’t hurt him, will you?”

On the prompt, the mentioned boy’s gaze shifted wide-eyed between them. “You two are still…”

“Friends? Depends on the current mood…” Regulus deadpanned, finally deciding and grabbing the Ravenclaw’s collar. “Right now, I’d say: Try me.”

Unfortunately the effect by ruined by Tristan’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s really not worth it.”

But he wouldn’t let his reputation be ruined so easily. He ran his eyes up and down the Ravenclaw and added coldly: “Sit. Or I might be losing my patience. And then, you will explain in good detail, what is going on here.”

Again, Tristan interrupted, this time a little worried. “This might not be the time for that. His friends will be here soon.”

To that, Regulus sighed. Couldn’t things just for once be easy? Threatening one unimportant Ravenclaw into silence was one thing, doing the same with a group was much less likely to work. Carefully distilling his anger into something feral, he turned back to his potential victim. “How many and when?” If his face and demeanor were not enough to encourage honesty, than he had definitely lost his edge.

He hadn’t, though. With a few friendly bumps here and there, the Ravenclaw stuttered through his rather disappointing story. At its end Regulus tended to agree with Tristan: this really wasn’t worth it. It was so stupid, it hurt. Just then, the door opened again, prompting the arrival of the other culprits.

Regulus stepped into the shadows close to the door and closed it behind them, wand already in hand, stunning them, before they could recover from their shock, of seeing the change of things. It was like harvesting baby mandrakes… Lots of screaming, little consequence.

Once they were all down, he arranged them, bound them and released them from his stunner, to have some grave words with them. “What exactly did you think, you were doing?”

The two younger Slytherins remained silent and gazed at their boss seeking for help. But in face of the older and much more infamous Regulus Black, he didn’t feel very confident either. “Punishing some… blood traitor?” he mumbled and tried not to look too guilty.

Regulus snorted at that. “And probably doing the Dark Lord’s work for him, yes? Such stupidity doesn’t go unpunished. If he wanted Hogwarts to know of his influence here, he would make an appearance. Or at least send someone marked at his disposal.” His eyes bore into the other boy’s without any mercy.

“But he is a traitor…” one of the other Slytherins stubbornly interrupted. “My father saw him.”

Oh dear… He had assumed, Slytherin had to have at least _some_ cunning, even the stupid ones. This one seemed to be in the house solely based on account of pity. “If so, I’d say, he is well controlled in here… wouldn’t you?” He gripped the boy by his throat and forced him up a bit.

Tristan watched nervously, but wisely did nothing. Him looking miserable helped the point quite a lot.

Still, the pitiful Slytherin-substitute didn’t get the message. “We would have had him finished in no time… no need to watch him anymore.”

Regulus gave him a disdainful smile. “Those, anticipating, they now the Dark Lord’s plan find themselves more often than not at the wrong end of a Cruciatus curse. Be thankful I feel lenient.” With that he gave each of them a harsh stinging hex, emphasizing his next words with small dips of his wand, as if to cast another series.

“I expect you to behave like the dutiful sons, you failed to be today. Your fathers have still hopes for you. Don’t end them by disappointing the Dark Lord and disturbing his circles.” Thereafter he shushed Tristan out of the room, turning one last time and watching each of them intently. “I ever see you in trouble again, I’ll make sure, the right persons gain knowledge of that to teach you the lesson… sufficiently.” He then ended the constraining charms and left them alone in the dark room, warding the door with another unpleasant surprise, that would burn their fingers some more and remind them, he wasn’t joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, how fast they grow up... Tris can really pull his own weight by now... If Regulus only let him.


	46. Confrontations of deathly importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Regulus try to gain information on the Kreacher incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still eager to post every day (and I still can), and I hope, you enjoy reading. In the next few chapters, there will be more action again... I think, but this is still mostly communication.

At first, they planned to corner Slughorn together, but after some thinking, Tristan suggested to do it alone. The professor would never expect an attack from him. He might have had a hint, how he wasn’t exactly helpless, but he wouldn’t suspect him to try something that devious. And since it was for a good reason, Tristan’s conscience wasn’t much disturbed.

So he asked the Potions Master for an appointment and met him in his study in an interesting resemblance of Regulus’ attempt. Hopefully Slughorn didn’t catch up right away. If so, Regulus would join in and they would try to convince him together. The bond wasn’t exactly a precise instrument of communication, but it would suffice to signal, when this was necessary.

Slughorn was already waiting, when Tristan arrived, a glass of a clear liquid on the surface of the desk, a kettle and some teacups to the side. “Dear Mr. Malfoy. I am surprised you decided to resume our conversations. I was under the impression you didn’t appreciate them to the same degree as I did” he said in his most jovial voice, gesturing for his student to sit.

For the moment, Tristan complied and even accepted the offer for some tea. “I came to talk about the offer of apprenticeship, we last discussed.” He studied Slughorn’s face very carefully, as he continued: “If I understand it correctly, you felt slightly inconvenienced by the insistence of the… potential mentor.”

It was hard to read him; Slughorn wasn’t head of Slytherin for nothing, but a small twitch was there anyways. They hadn’t been wrong; he would like to get this off his hands. Now Tristan had to play their cards right. Make sure, Slughorn believed in their good intentions and hopefully in the possibility to get the better out of the agreement, they were about to propose.

“I might be willing to talk with them directly. Not promising anything, of course, but… like cutting out the middle man, so you get your peace.” He checked, if Slughorn paid attention and wasn’t disappointed. The professor was wary though, this seemed all a bit too easy and too sudden. He would have even more doubts, before Tristan was done, but there was no way around this. If Regulus was to be trusted, and that was a given fact after their bond, he needed the information desperately.

Besides… the mere implication, it might help against the evil bastard was enough for Tristan to see it through. He was not a hero. Never would be. But desperate times needed desperate choices.

“I might even make sure, they get the impression you strongly advocated their offer to me… So much in fact, they might feel obligated to reciprocate.”

Slughorn’s smile looked just that little forced. “That might not be that believable, dear Mr. Malfoy. I made my reluctance clear enough.” His eyes never left Tristan’s face, which meant, he had caught wind, his student was up to something.

Tristan licked his lips, playing into the stereotype of inexperience. “Maybe there is something else, you need from me?” Oh, Merlin, did he actually say this? At least he didn’t actually agree to something. Only insinuate it was possible. He tried, not to overplay it, but made sure, his hands clenched, just a bit.

Slughorn seemed to buy it. “I get the impression, you want something from me…” Tristan did neither agree nor disagree, but waited patiently, inhaling and exhaling slowly, until Slughorn continued: “My dear boy, you won’t get anywhere, if you do not confide with me…”

Another layer of nervousness. Biting his lip, fidgeting. Looking down on his hands, not quite being able to stand Slughorn’s gaze. He didn’t need to play it, just let his composure slip. Just fall back into the time before Regulus’ training. “There is… a question. If…” he looked up, quickly, apologetically. “If you chose, not to answer, I will understand… of course.” He felt like he was pushing it too much… Had he really been that helpless? “And… I won’t judge you either.”

That had been too far. Slughorn’s eyes went hard, all of a sudden. “What are you implying, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked coldly and not at all interested in the answer.

Tristan blew some air through thinned lips. “Professor Slughorn. You may know, I am no friend of the… so-called Dark Lord. And I firmly believe, neither are you. If I am mistaken, I might actually sign my death warrant now. But I am desperate. I need to know.”

It was a calculated risk. Slughorn was no death eater, Regulus had been sure of that. He might still have been a sympathizer, but it seemed unlikely. Offering this small bit of information might sway him, so they hoped. And if, despite all their assumptions he did report to… him, there wasn’t that much lost. The evil bastard would find out about the Order’s healer sooner or later.

To emphasize his plea further, he carefully unbuttoned both sleeves, showing Slughorn the distinct lack of dark marks, but covered the right fast again, so he wouldn’t see the other… feature. Slughorn’s eyes still lit up and he reached for Tristan’s hand. “What was that?”

“Curse scar” Tristan hurried to assure him, but it was just a little too fast. Consciously falling into old mistakes did him no good here.

And Slughorn certainly noticed. Very politely he asked: “May I?”

Tris sighed, covering the forearm with his left hand for the moment. “We may yet come to an understanding…?” He felt bad about it. Like a little boy, wearing his father’s shoes. He wasn’t used to play this game like Regulus. He couldn’t control himself like he did. Couldn’t read others like he did. Regulus and probably Slughorn just played in another league.

The professor still played on friendliness. “I have no idea, what might interest you so much, but if this… curse scar is bothering you…”

“It isn’t” he growled, trying in vain to find back to his by now usual restraint. “It’s like that, Professor. I need something. I am willing to share, but only, if you answer honestly.” He swallowed harshly, clenching his jaw and added: “I might not be as good as you, but I think, I can tell.”

The Slytherin head seemed to ponder this, before asking, still amiably: “Say, are you still well acquainted with… Mr. Black?”

That finally gave Tristan some confidence back, as he asked, grinning: “Which?”

This took Slughorn by surprise. He had anticipated quite a different reaction, but caught up fast. “Let’s say… the younger.”

Tristan nodded with a smirk. “You have guessed, he told me, whom to ask…”

Another surprise, better concealed though. Slughorn hadn’t known. He had only been worried about this connection in general. “Ask about what?”

“Dark Arts, Sir.” The smile was gone and replaced by grim determination. “I need to know, what you told him. And… if I am not mistaken… How to destroy it.”

Regulus had been right. He knew now… Watching the Slytherins over two years and guessing their every move had taught him more, than he thought. Slughorn’s composure was enviable. But not perfect. He was shaken. He was shaken beyond measure. Tristan’s implication had caught him completely off guard.

“Go, Mr. Malfoy” he all but shouted. “I would strongly advise you to leave!”

Tristan stood up. “One knowledge deserves the other, sir” he countered and revealed the silvery line on his arm. “If you are ready to talk, so am I.” Then he left, the door behind him closing deceivingly loudly.

\----

Regulus wasn’t sure, if the wards of Hogwarts prevented house elves from apparating through them and if Kreacher had received a special permission, when he summoned him to his uncle Alphard’s funeral. He wasn’t about to try, guessing that it would at least be noticed. Instead, he used the next Hogsmeade weekend to meet with Tris just outside the wards, but far enough from the usual paths, so they wouldn’t be seen, when they strolled along the border towards the forbidden forest. There, out of sight and out of the immediate supervision from the school, he summoned his elf, with a short, sharp: “Kreacher.”

The small, somewhat grumpy figure snapped into existence. “Yes, Master Regulus?” After bowing, he gave Tristan a dirty look, grumbling under his breath: “Master still keeping that unworthy pet…”

Regulus let it slip for the moment. He would deal with that particular problem later. For now, he needed Kreacher’s immediate attention at the problem at hand. Once again, and this time in great detail he let the house elf explain, what he had seen and done in the cave, where the presumed artifact rested. When he was done, Regulus started asking questions, trying not to sound too inquisitive. After some time, so did Tristan, but Kreacher pointedly ignored every word the little Malfoy said.

Regulus sighed. “Kreacher, you might not like that, but Tristan is my friend and companion. He will stay and I want you to listen to him as you would to me.”

Now that was of yet the dirtiest look he had ever seen, more so from a house elf. “Bah, Kreacher not good house elf? Not obedient, not fine?”

Another, even deeper sigh tried to fight its way from Regulus’ chest. “You have been good and obedient. That is, why I trust you with him.” The small creature tilted his head, pondering on the question, how to fend off this dilemma. But there was none. If he continued to treat Tristan badly, he would disappoint. And no matter, how grumpy Kreacher could be, this was a thing, he couldn’t do.

“As Master Regulus wishes…” he snarled unhappily, eying Tristan with continued contempt.

But Tris was no longer a scared child. With elegant gesture he grabbed the house elf by one of his bat-like ears and pulled him closer. “Listen, you sorry excuse for a servant. I have been by your Master’s side on his wishes for long enough to see him almost die twice. If you wish to continue the “almost” part, you better get used to me.” His eyes twinkled, telling Regulus, very little of this could be taken seriously, but Kreacher didn’t know that.

“You threaten Master? Kreacher make you very sorry!” the house elf screeched, grabbing after Tristan’s throat.

The young Malfoy gave him a soft shove and he fell back on his bum, still looking very angry. “On the contrary. You can dislike me all you want, as long as you don’t impede me. I am as much interested in his survival as you. And that means: answer my questions.”

Now, Kreacher’s gaze was deadly, but Tristan didn’t even look like he cared anymore. Regulus couldn’t help but admire him just a little more. He still chimed in: “Behave. Both of you.” It helped. A little.

\----

“Why can’t the brat just disappear, father?” Lucius elegant lips distorted in disgust. “He is nothing but trouble for the family.” He sat down in the armchair, studying his father’s expression, while pretending to play with the delicate wine glass in his hand. “And you said yourself: he is just a bastard. No son of yours.”

Lord Malfoy, seated in the other armchair and as icy cold as befitted his position, the hair changed from pale blond to silvery white, sighed. “It is short-sighted to dismiss even a pawn easily, Lucius. Killing it may seem simple, but usually, using it, turns out to be more profitable.” He was still lecturing his son, who by now was far to grown-up to accept it without complaint anymore.

“He discredits our good name both in society and in the eyes of the Dark Lord.” Lucius pointed out, raising just one brow. “Surrounding himself with blood-traitors and mudbloods. Defying your will. Running after that Regulus Black.”

For the first time in this meeting, Abraxas looked directly at his son, and he did so with obvious disappointment. “All I hear of you is complaint. Your wife Narcissa was not the key to the Blacks we hoped for. Allowing this relationship to develop and keeping Tristan around would have given you another chance.” With that he stood up, nearing Lucius. “Besides… your faith in the Dark Lord might be as misplaced as his in this... resistance. How can you expect to be Lord Malfoy, when you bend your knee so easily? Maybe I should reconsider my will.” With each word he drew closer, until Lucius had to lean back to avoid colliding with his nose and chin, as he bend down, his sharp eyes piercing his son’s. He hadn’t meant that. He despised Tristan as much as Lucius did, more maybe, the son who should have been a daughter, the son who had cost him his most obedient wife, the son he never wanted and doubted as soon as he was old enough to be aware of.

And yet. The old man behaved, as if he owned Lucius. As if he was still in charge and knew everything. Maybe it was time to show him out. Maybe it was time to grab the power, he still hold. Lucius was no pawn to be pushed around the board, no possession to be used, no schoolboy to be lectured.

And once he was rid of the annoyance the old man posed, there would be nothing to stop him from disposing his useless brother as well. Nothing would put his position in question. Not as Lord Malfoy and not at the Dark Lord’s side.

He pondered, if he should demonstrate to his father, just how much of the Blacks’ power Narcissa had brought into their marriage. Or if he should use other means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide, if my favorite in this chpater is the communication with Slughorn or the banter with Kreacher... They were both fun to write.


	47. Cavernous darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan start their exploration of the cave. Yes, this cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two lazy days... That can't be good... I hope someone is still reading this...   
> No triggers for this chapter yet, but be prepared.

“We can’t wait until the summer” Regulus urged. “There is no saying, when I will be summoned and I have little to no hope, he will wait, until I finished my NEWTs.”

Tristan caressed his arms carefully, not quite embracing him. “We can’t just disappear either” he whispered softly, trying to make Regulus see reason. “How do you intend to even get there? I can’t even apparate…” And they had still no idea how to handle the other obstacles the evil bastard had placed in order to avoid retrieval of the artifact.

“I could go alone. Just me and Kreacher…” Regulus suggested. “He knows what we find there. He got out once already.” Once again, Regulus was restless and impatient, and Tristan tried to calm him. The catch though was, this time Regulus was right. They had to get the thing, the sooner the better, before they couldn’t anymore. And he hadn’t been able to figure out any new ideas either.

Neither of them would have gone into this, if they had been able to plan something. But despite Kreacher’s report, they still had only vague ideas, what awaited them and how to counter it. At least, together they stood a chance. He wouldn’t let Regulus go alone. “No way. His magic works different than ours and even he got out by mere luck. I won’t let you go in there and die.”

Regulus growled. “Then, how about some ideas? Instead of reservations?” Lashing out at Tristan happened rarely enough, especially since the bond, but right now his frustration got the better of him.

Tristan understood and leaned closer, whispering tenderly: “We are in it together… We can do it, ok? We will figure it out.” His hands wandered up and rested again on Regulus’ shoulders, as started placing soft kisses on his face. Gradually the older boy relaxed.

He was almost a man now, Tristan realized, his face, his gestures had nothing boyish anymore and he asked himself, if he looked equally grown-up beyond his age. This war killed all youth, some slowly, some very fast… It was in their hands to end it. And they were not smart enough to figure it out…

\----

Tristan sat in the library within a whole fort of books, harmless ones carefully concealing the more advanced and partly restricted books, he wasn’t even supposed to have. He had gotten very good at library research, tracing both healing magic and dark spells and rituals that weren’t part of the official curriculum of Hogwarts, mostly, when people assumed, he was actually learning. Maybe it was a small mercy to balance his ineptness in most practical forms of magic, but understanding and remembering never took him much effort.

Now was no different. He could remember several dozens of potions, he had checked, neither of them particularly friendly to the final recipient. But none fitted the description Kreacher had given fully. It was infuriating.

There were poisons, slowly killing in most creative ways with little chance to counter them, especially, if you didn’t know, what they did.Kreacher’s survival didn’t quite rule them out, as house elves often reacted different to them and could in general withstand a lot more than any wizard. It still seemed unlikely.

There were draughts to weaken the body and leave it vulnerable to other influences, killing indirectly and more subtle. Those had been a good shot, judging by the surroundings that were very deadly indeed. Tristan doubted them anyways, they didn’t seem to fit into what he pictured the evil bastard to think like.

And then, there the potions weakening the mind, some even the soul. Making them prone to suggestions, imprisoning them in their own nightmares, forcing them to bow to his sick ideas. Those were most probable, but hardest to find. The books around him contained only a handful and neither was perfectly suitable.

Maybe Slughorn as Potions Master of Hogwarts knew more, he might have even able to identify the potion by mere description from Kreacher, but after their last attempt to extract information from him, they had more or less given up. If the old man wasn’t even lured in by the temptation of a blood oath scar, nothing, they could give him, would help. At least, it had not been for naught, as Regulus agreed with his assumption that they (or rather his companion, this time) had guessed right.

\----

It was Thursday after class and he was just about to go for dinner in the Great Hall, when the burning hit him. It was just a short impulse, a mere hint of real summon, but he could tell, it was real, by the way, other people in the corridor looked equally flustered as he felt.

The extremely short flare hadn’t enabled them to tell, if and where they were expected, rendering them unable to follow through and indicating it had just been an accident or maybe a test.

It was nice to know, though, who, beside himself was marked. Regulus just hoped, others couldn’t tell as easily as him. He tried not to appear nervous and stepped into through the gates and towards the Slytherin table. At least one person though knew. He could feel Tristan’s concerned gaze all through the meal. He nodded softly at him, when he was sure, he could get away with it, sure, to meet later in one of their usual spots. Tristan would want to know. He wished, he could lie, but that wouldn’t work anymore. Tris always could tell.

\----

They still had only a vague idea, how to handle the cave, but after being sufficiently scared by the call, they knew, they had no more choice. Especially, when later the shining green of the Dark Mark appeared on the night sky not far away. The war was closing in and they had to act now. What their research in Hogwarts’ library hadn’t yielded until now, it would neither in the near future. They would make do with what they had.

It was hard, making it work though. Regulus found it rather amusing in a grim way: now that they had avoided the embarrassing lover’s shared suicide cliché, they jumped right to “running away together”, and that in their sane mind. How pathetic.

If it hadn’t been so necessary, Regulus would have had a hard time to decide, if he should laugh or cry about it. But as the things were, disappearing during the Hogsmeade weekend was their best shot. It wouldn’t raise too many suspicions too early. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t be missed until dinner, or even the next morning, for classes. If everything went well, they might even be able to make it back in time. And Regulus firmly believed, when Tristan told him, he had ways to get back into the castle, if necessary.

Their chances were still miserable. So were their preparations. Time was running out and pressed them to act much too soon. A part of him had hoped, he could leave the little one in the safety of the castle, could go alone. But he knew that wasn’t fair. When he had forced Tris to perform the rite, he had linked their fates forever. Denying him a chance to do something was crueler than dying together. They still could have their shared suicide, it seemed.

\----

The entrance to the cave was at the sea shore, but it was nothing like the impressive yet serene area, Tristan had visited with Remus and Sirius on his birthday. Here craggy stones wet from spray littered the area, each covered with slippery layers of greenish algae or knife-sharp sea shells. The cliff line was covered in unsteady and disturbingly alive-looking shadows, effectively concealing the darkness of the cave itself, high up on the ragged stony surface.

They had nicked a boat to come here, but it didn’t help them much, as there was no way to position it securely close to the cave entrance or to climb up from there over the glistening treacherous rocks. They had tried to avoid side-along-apparition at all reasonable cost, because of the strain it took of them, sacrificing valuable time instead, but were now left without other options. At least, the way down would be easier, as they had brought some rope with them.

That, if they ever got so far.

For now, after tethering the rope, Regulus gave Tris a reassuring look, wrapped an arm around his waist and took them both up to the entrance, where they studied the darkness inside with growing concerns. “Kreacher said, the corridor is safe…” Regulus whispered, as if one noise could already bring danger down to them.

Tristan understood; he felt the same. The very atmosphere here felt somehow venomous, dark and creeping. Suppressing a hard swallow, he nodded. “But we can’t rely on that.” His hands shook too, but he wouldn’t let his companion see that.

But Regulus’ thoughts were already elsewhere. “I go. You are a much better healer than me. If something happens, you pull me out.”

It sounded so simple. But there was no lifeline, no safety net. Tristan _was_ the better healer. But he was shit in almost everything else… “What if…” he tried, but stopped there. They were here now. Maybe they would never get a second chance. Or find the courage. So he nodded and let Regulus go and followed much slower, until they found a gate, both closing off their view for what lay ahead further and looming over them like a dark spirit. It would have taken them some time, to figure it out, if Kreacher hadn’t told them already, blood was need to open it. Again, Regulus didn’t wait for Tristan’s approval and cut the back of his hand to provide the necessary ingredient. “No use in exposing us both…” he commented and was probably right. Since he was already marked, there was no use to alarm the evil bastard of Tristan’s existence.

Beyond it the corridor opened up to a lake and in its waters a strange boat waited for them.

Reluctantly Regulus turned. “Stay here. I don’t want you trapped.”

Tristan shivered, but didn’t waste time arguing. Of course he didn’t want to let his lover go alone. Of course he didn’t want him to get trapped either. Suddenly he had an idea. “Call Kreacher. He apparated out last time. It might help.”

Regulus nodded determinedly. Perhaps he would have taken the house elf anyways, if he hadn’t been with Tristan, whom Kreacher still despised. As if he had been awaiting it, the annoying grump appeared, as soon as Regulus called for him and joined his master in the boat, looking back triumphantly at Tristan, who couldn’t help but feel worse for it.

It wasn’t jealousy though, it was just the fact that he could do very little now, but wait for Regulus to perform the necessary steps. Drink the cursed potion, take the cursed artifact, cross back over the cursed lake. In its depths, Tristan felt something stirring, waking up, as soon as the boat moved away from him, for now, only greyish shadows moving in the deep darkness.

He watched in terror, trying to see everything at once, never ceasing to pay attention, alternating between looking out for his love and the surroundings. Slowly, ever so slowly, fear creeped up and all but engulfed him. Cold sweat started to break on his back, as Regulus stepped onto the small island, where the artifact was placed, his breath went shallow, when he summoned a mock-artifact and placed a note inside. Tristan hadn’t know, he intended to leave that behind.

His body went taut, when Regulus started to drink the potion, showing more signs of distress with each sip he took. Until this point, the young Black had kept strict control over the bond, but now, it was flooded with anxiety, grief and despair. Soon enough, he could feel Regulus crying, sobbing so violently, he could see it from afar.

He cried too, out of frustration, he couldn’t do anything but watch, close enough to see, too far to help. Or could he? The bond vibrated with shared anguish, as Tristan bit his lips bloody and shook one last time. Then he started pushing every good memory into it, he could find. The moment, he realized, Regulus wasn’t going to hurt him. Their first kiss. Joined hands, joined minds, joined moments. “I love you…” he whispered, as if he was swearing. “I love you, you fool. You can’t get yourself killed, ‘cause I love you.”

The depth of the lake became alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had practically nightmares about this, when I read it from the original years ago... I hope to capture the same tension... But I doubt it... Hope, you enjoy my attempt... And are curious to see it unfold.


	48. Good intentions don't make up for bad planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cave's unforgiving traps threaten to kill Regulus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: tomorrow there will be no update, not because I have reached the end of my preparations, but because I do not have a laptop anymore. I won't be at home and can't take it with me. So... Next update on Sunday. But I am making progress again, I feel a little better now. Still going.  
> Trigger-warning in this one: Intense situations, triggers for depression, other phychic health issues and self harm.

Regulus was alone, so alone. Even Kreacher, standing by his side was but a mockery. Everyone was gone, everyone had left. His mother and father… disinterested… in only the spare. The addition. Unnecessary, as long, as their first performed.

Sirius… leaving… so long ago. Leaving him alone in the house, where joy died a cruel and torturous death.

He started to cry, as the effect of the potion forced him to re-inspect every moment of his life. Every failure, every shortcoming, every step in the wrong direction. Every cold look, where he needed a warm smile. Every disappointed shake of the head, where he wanted pride.

He knew, he wouldn’t be missed. There would be no one waiting out there, for him, who had been not enough for all his life. Too weak, too soft, too dutiful, too obedient, too…

Everything in him wanted to stop drinking, wanted to flee from this torture… Everything but two conflicting voices in his head. One urged him on to finish, to be successful, to fight, to go through… with what, he couldn’t remember. One wallowed in the misery, almost savored his self-destruction.

The traitorous voice, whispering, he would never be good enough, he wasn’t worthy. It was only right to end here. Only right to remove him from this world. To be killed trying, where others, better ones might have succeeded.

And, merciless, as he ordered him, Kreacher fed him sip after sip after sip, driving him deeper into the end of existence. The end of his soul and mind. He drank, willingly, too weak even to resist…

Suddenly, too light to look at, like a candle lit in complete darkness, there was hope. A warm feeling… Kreacher brought him another part of the potion, and he drank, for the first time distracted, looking for something else. Someone else. A soft hand on his cheek, a pair of lips on his temple, small mercies. He cried on, drained of anything good, but the small flame in the darkness grew, warming parts of him, that had been cold all too long, maybe forever, maybe since he was born.

He couldn’t name that feeling. Couldn’t name those hands and lips.

He pleaded with Kreacher to let him go, but he had advised him not to stop. Not under any circumstances, not even when he ordered him to, and gently, but relentlessly the house elf kept feeding him the tasteless, colorless, scentless fluid.

He prayed to Lady Magic to give him some respite. He feared, the flood of endless apathy and cold despair would kill this small flame, would erase the memory, so weak, so weak, but it didn’t. Instead, the warmth crept into him, hid in his gut, his bones, his mind, hid, wherever it could find a place, the darkness didn’t reach.

Where he had accepted his fate, it whispered defiance, where he had given up, it ignited fight. Where he was willing to let go, it urged him on.

The receptable, Kreacher held, was empty. Just like the bigger bowl. If he hadn’t felt so tired, so weak, he would have been proud. Stumbling he rose back from where he had fallen to his knees and fought the urge to heave, to fall again, to simply die.

He had a task. He had… a goal. If only he could remember. The glint in the bowl made him aware… Oh yes… the locket. He had to switch the locket… the one in his hand seemed all wrong, too light, too cheap, the angrily mocking note inside suddenly childish and stupid.

Yet, too late to reconsider, too late, too late. With a final sigh he exchanged the artifact against his fake and held it out to Kreacher. “Go home, take it with you and guard it, until you find a way to destroy it…” He fell back to the ground. Thirsty. So thirsty. “Don’t tell the family…” he managed to croak hoarsely and then: “Go now, go…”

When Kreacher apparated away, all he wanted was close his eyes. The burning flame, keeping him upright was now pure torture. Why would he want to go on? What would be waiting for him? There was no need to leave. No need to survive… Only… water… thirst… down to the lake… Then… drink… then… die…

\----

Horrified Tristan watched, how Regulus, on the other side of this cursed lake, crawled on his hands and knees, unable to rise, unable to hear him… Down below the shadows grew restless, grew wild, crept towards the surface, their motions jerky and inhuman.

Closer, ever closer to Regulus, who didn’t even notice, who moved towards the dark waters, like he was already dead, only moving by pure will.

Tristan cried out to him, begged him to stay, begged him to come back to him, yet the other didn’t hear him. Caught in his own personal hell, its effects clearly distinguishable through the bond, he wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t even notice. Hands broke through the surface, still too far away to reach out for Regulus, but already so close. Grey hands, covered in sickeningly limb skin, moving with spidery determination.

Soon enough, the bodies would follow, soon enough, they would be onto Regulus, soon enough, he would be lost.

After a last strangled cry, more out of desperation, than of hope, he gave up on alarming his lover or pulling him out of his stupor. He needed to do something else. He needed to… Pure willpower made him reach out for the boat with a summoning charm… It was not exactly one of his favorites, but at least, it worked. The boat moved… all on its own, but so slow, he couldn’t possibly be there in time.

More hands appeared, then heads, as he willed the boat to go faster, jumped into it, as soon, as it was close enough, pushing it back in the other direction, back to Regulus… The boat rockeds, starting to distract at least some of the creatures, he could now, that they started to emerge, identify as inferi. Oh Merlin… Undead remnants of unspeakably dark magic. The very representation of necromancy. It made his skin creep.

Soon, the greyish bodies closed in on him, blocking every way but the one he needed, forward to Regulus, who was still oblivious of the horrible fate waiting for him, still crawling towards the water in disturbingly slow pace. Tristan cursed and spit, but couldn’t go any faster, couldn’t… Again, he jumped, before the boat actually arrived at its destination, pulling it behind him, but caring little…

A strangled cry removed his last attention from the boat… Regulus had arrived at the water, bowing down to drink, but was met with dozens of hands pulling him in, before he could even take a first gulp. He struggled vainly against the grip of hands, the pull of arms, the strangling, suffocating mass.

Tristan ran, raced, too far away, too late, too late…

A frightening number of inferi had Regulus surrounded, pulled over the edge and into the lake, dragged him deeper, deeper…

There was no moment of reluctance or hesitation, as he jumped after them. The cold water drained all power out of him, pushed the very air of his lungs. Greyish, slippery hands reached for him too, as one single thought bloomed in his mind… Fire. Inferi hated, feared, fled fire… Reaching for his wand, in one last insignificant attempt, reaching out for Regulus’ power and his own, for it was all he had left, he cast: “Incendio.” There was no sound, as water pushed onto him, into his mouth, into his body… but there was no time to linger on that… he pushed the thought out of his mind, as he put everything he had into that one, single spell… A wave of fire washed over him, over Regulus, over the inferi over the bottom of the lake… An incendio, like had never cast before, would never be able to repeat. A firestorm, sparing nothing but him and his love, caster and contributor.

It wasn’t strong enough to incinerate the inferi, at least not underwater. It did not have to. The creatures of darkness fled the wave, fled the light, fled into the deepest parts of the water, leaving two floating bodies behind.

Now, sputtering and coughing, Tristan reached for the surface, desperate for air. But only for a moment, taking one deep breath, he dove back into the icy water, in search for his other half, still fully submerged under the waves.

And Merlin, Regulus was heavy. Even without the added weight of dozens of inferi pulling him down, Tristan barely managed to move him. Up, up. They needed to get out. Now, before the creatures found out, he couldn’t do a second fire wave… Now.

It took an eternity to drag him to the shore, a century to push the water out of him and force him to breathe with a harsh reanimating spell. And even then, every exhale was wet, every inhale forced. He didn’t wake up either, so Tristan pulled up as much energy as he had left for what passed as a light-weight charm for him and dragged Regulus towards the boat, dousing both of them once more with icy water. The fragile structure creaked alarmingly but managed to keep them both floating and for the first time in ages Tristan was thankful for his rather slender, almost starved frame. There was no thinking, what would have happened, if he weighed the same as Regulus.

And already he was starting to feel exhausted. But he couldn’t let go just yet. Performing the ritual that granted him clarity for as long as needed, knowing, it would probably kill him, once, this was over, he pulled himself back together, willing the boat over the lake again, back towards the gate, casting small, disappointing incendios, whenever another inferus felt the urge to show courage again. It wouldn’t help against the full force of them, but it kept them at bay just long enough, to reach the end of the lake, and the gate. Pulling Regulus through, was a task of its own, as the magic of the seal drained out his pathetic light-weight charm, but he managed by pure willpower, although at the cost of bruising Regulus here and there.

It wasn’t important. It would heal, if only they could get away, if only…

Before them gaped the entrance of the cave, opening into a long drop, followed again by very cold, and this time very forceful water. And rocks… lots of unforgiving, hard, injury-prone rocks…

With what he had left of his magic, he wouldn’t be able to make it. Regulus would die and he wouldn’t be able to help… It was the decision of the moment. Never before had he combined both rites, attempting both clarity and magic power at once… But desperate times called for desperate measures. Shivering he bit his lip and loosened the small potions knife on his belt just enough to run it over his forearm, sacrificing blood and pain for power. It was pathetically little, terribly weak. He struggled to catch it, use it, push it into one last charm to ease Regulus down to the surface of the waves, jumping after him without much thought. He had no time to attempt climbing and if he wasn’t fast enough, Regulus would drown.

Hitting the waves pushed one jolt of pain through him, the icy and salty water, biting into the open wound brought on the next. After that it all blurred into one, unendingly agony, in which he managed to drag Regulus and himself into the boat, soakingly wet and almost dead. Left with nothing else to do, he loosened the tethering of the boat and pushed it into the current. It wasn’t important, where it would end up. Only, that it wasn’t _here_. Then he fell back, covering as much of Regulus’ body as he could with his own to prevent him from freezing and succumbed to exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure, if I was able to catch the nightmarish quality of this one, part of me hopes so (the author part), part of me hopes not. Let me know, what you think.


	49. Dead or alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping the cave, Tristan is in desperate need for help and turns to the most reliable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back and happily so.   
> Still Trigger-warning for mental health issues, I guess, but the worst is behind us.

Regulus woke up to the soft noises of water, the slight rocking of waves. Above him was a grey sky, around him, cold dampness, some of it quite heavy. When he moved, so did the burden above him, a dark form, he didn’t quite understand, but which left him reassured nonetheless. His name was whispered, in a cracked, hoarse voice, he did not recognize, but he felt no need to answer anyways. He was dead, wasn’t he?

The deceased had no business with the world of the living… If only death hadn’t been so cold. And so painful. If only he stopped feeling everything, that had happened to his body, to his mind, to his soul. But all pain aside, he felt content… Soon his body would rot, his soul fly away and it would be over…

Only… this annoying burden wouldn’t keep silent. It whispered, and prodded. It moved around and disturbed his peace. It did something that made the soft rocking of the waves stop and replaced them with a crunching sound that was less then pleasant. It moved away, then came back, pulling his dead body up and dragging it over rough surfaces, rasping away his skin. It seemed, the dead could hurt after all, for the pain was very real.

Some part of his body struggled, jerked through him, until he landed on his feet, making step after step and asking himself, how it was possible to still move. It wasn’t important enough to keep him occupied for long, though, soon the blissful apathy swept back in. The burden brought him somewhere above the shore line, somewhere warmer, somewhere out of the wind. He was placed on something slightly warmer and softer than the ground and covered with something else. The fabric around him was rough and unpleasant, but he couldn’t really object, for he was most certainly dead and it eased the coldness at least.

Some time went on, and he didn’t care, didn’t move, didn’t rot… not yet. The silence got almost threatening, but then again… fear couldn’t reach him anymore, could it? Before he could finish pondering the question, sound came back, as did the burden. Something hard was pressed against his lips, and water, precious, precious water spilled onto them. It was cold… almost freezing, hurting, burning. But it was there, and he was more thirsty than he ever remembered being. Maybe the dead thirsted more than the living.

He drank in long greedy gulps, drank and then sank back.

The burden stroked his hair and whispered to him. Was he dead too? Or was he living and tried to coax him back, where he couldn’t go anymore? Or was he something completely different, sent out to seize him for the darkness?

He couldn’t remember, and the burden didn’t say.

\----

Tristan almost cried. He tried so hard, but nothing could bring Regulus to react. He was alive… even mostly awake, for a given amount of wakefulness. But he refused to acknowledge anything around him. He didn’t move on his own, drink on his own, open his eyes on his own. His breathing was as much effort as he put into survival.

He was sick, he was hurt and he was as far from well, as one could get without actually dying.

Tristan didn’t linger on delusions. If he couldn’t do something fast, Regulus would die. And so would he. The uneasy sleep in the boat had barely helped him recover, and the weight of the rites was still on his shoulders. He didn’t know, how much longer he would be able to push it away, until it came crashing down.

He needed to know Regulus safe, before he could allow that, before he could lie down for as long as it took, until he had slept enough or died. Shaking from effort he filled another bottle at the spring he found and brought it back to Regulus, feeding it to him, until the older boy refused to drink more. Then he covered his still too cool body with the rotting sail he had found in the old fisher’s shack he used for shelter. Lastly, he put some charm he commonly used on patients to alarm him, if they did something stupid over Regulus’ body.

He would need to find other wizards soon, and unable to apparate as he was, there was just one way to do that, at least, if he wanted the right _kind_ of wizard around. He headed out for the next street and held out his wand, calling for the Knight bus.

\----

“Dumbledore called” James said, without so much as a “hello”, while stepping into Sirius flat. That left both Sirius and Remus alarmed, for it rarely meant something good. “Maybe you should get a place, where you are actually available for fire-calling.” He exchanged a slightly exasperated look with them, fully well knowing, why they stayed here of all places for now.

Sirius handed him a bottle and a glass and asked: “What about?” trying not to look to nervous.

“Both your brother and our little serpent are missing.”

Silence fell. For a whole minute, each of them stayed put, uttering not a single word. Then, suddenly Sirius rose in a fit of rage. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. I should have never listened to the kid. He thought, he had it. He thought, he was safe… And see, what it got him. He’s probably already in Malfoy Manor!”

Remus jumped into action, trying to calm him down or at least make him drop the volume, but it was pointless. Sirius continued to roar in fury, how this was bound to happen, and swore bloody rage upon his brother’s head. Realizing the futility of his actions, he took the seat beside James and asked, wedging the words into pauses of Sirius rant: “How long?”

James answered in the same manner, shrugging. “They don’t really know. At least three days, he said… more like four, I guess…” He added then: “None of their stuff was missing. Dumbledore asks, if we know something.”

Reluctantly Remus shook his head. “He didn’t try to contact us… neither of them.” It was clear, that only Tristan was likely to write at all and even he did so rarely, mostly only to inform them, never to ask for their opinion. He had learned too early in his life that there was no one looking out for him to just change back into a needy child. Unfortunately this meant, he didn’t take them into his confidence.

Still, Remus decided, it was unlikely that Regulus betrayed him or worse, just handed him over. Not after what they had been through, not after the longing so clearly visible on the little Malfoy. This had never been a one-sided affair to his knowledge and when Tristan was so clearly in love, Remus could tell without even trying, then so was Regulus. Hopefully.

This however, was not a good thing in this particular situation. Betrayal would have meant, they knew, how to find their little healer. He would either be in the custody of death eaters, Malfoy Manor of all places or if things really got weird somewhere in the Black estates. Without it, the two boys could have gotten themselves in any number of troubles, Merlin knew where.

It was then, that another sound interrupted Sirius now slower and more grumpy ramblings. Someone hammered his fists insistently against their front door.

\----

During his ride on the Knight bus Tristan had pondered all options to desperation. Of course he wouldn’t try to get help from his family. That was an obvious one. The Blacks were an equally bad idea, if Sirius was to be believed in the slightest, even though he imagined, Arcturus Black would be willing to invest some effort to help his grandson. He did however neither know, where the old patriarch resided, nor what his price would be and if it was worth it.

That left the other side of the table. The Potters had enough on their table, they couldn’t and shouldn’t leave little Harry alone. Hogwarts… was a little too diverse to come and go unnoticed. It would beat the whole purpose of disappearing, no one would believe it, the second time around.

Probably Sirius flat wasn’t a good idea either, judging by the reaction of Regulus’ brother on each mention of his name, but he was gravely out of options and held at least some hopes for Remus, who was a merciful soul, if any.

So, spending some of the last coins he had, he hopped of the bus in Central London, shed his, by this point more or less hopeless robe and moved to the place, where he hoped, they still were. It was one of his last possibilities. After that, there was only Diagon alley and vague hopes of fire-calling someone.

Before it got that far out of hand, he tried the muggle apartment block, with the still empty name tag on the specific flat. He banged at the door, barely staying upright and hoped. Hoped.

He had no idea, how long he would wait, before he gave up, and he had even more no idea, how long he could keep going after that, when his knees even now were on the brink of giving out. Before he could make the decision, though, the door opened unexpectedly and he fell forward into Remus' arms. “Please...' he pressed with watery eyes. “Regulus is dying.” The werewolf pulled him through the door and threw a privacy charm at it, before dragging him to the sofa, where he slept during summer and that was now occupied by James.

Protesting only weakly Tristan sank into the second seat and panted, continuing his pleading: “Please, Remus, we have to go, I don't know, how much time he has left.”

He did not really notice Sirius, until Regulus' older brother pulled him up by the collar and asked heatedly: “What in Merlin's name happened?”

Tris tried his best, not to waste time on that, and neither on Remus' attempts to get him back to something resembling okay. He urged them to go, and after he lapsed into begging, they finally grasped the fact that he probably wasn't exaggerating.

It took some more time to figure out, where they had to go, but Tristan had been alert enough o remember, where he got onto the Knight bus. That made apparating not exactly simple, but at least possible. Soon enough James and Sirius went off to collect a still completely absent Regulus, while Remus kept Tristan upright, for the moment.

\----

As soon as they were back in the flat after their little rescue mission – Sirius still wasn't sure, if it had been worth it – Tristan coiled up on one of the sofas and fell into a death-like sleep. He didn't wake up, when Remus carefully undressed him, washed him and put him into bed in one of his pajamas.

Regulus was... awake. Maybe. His eyes were open at least. He didn't react to anything, though. And he looked....

Strangely, the only fitting description they had, was Tristan's. He looked dying. His clothes torn, dirty and in such disarray, as Sirius had never seen it on him, not even as a little boy. His skin clammy, cold, pale. The eyes bare of any emotion or recognition. There was no saying, what had happened to him and the only person, able to tell them, had just lost any conscious thought.

Sirius got it though. Despite speaking and walking the little Malfoy didn't look any better. So in short, the three of them had two boys dead on their feet (or rather not on their feet anymore) in the apartment and their healer was out cold.

There was very little they could do right now. Sirius did the heavy lifting, meaning, he manhandled Regulus into the shower and into bed, after Remus had tried to make him eat and drink something with little success. James left, after he promised to contact Madam Pomphrey and bring her by, as soon as possible.

Of course, that would take some time. She could not simply disappear from school during the day and after that, it would take even more time to get her here. They would have to make do without her for now.

After both kids were in bed, sleeping or at least lying, a worried silence befell both Remus and him, leaving them both to their own thoughts. Those were no good, however.

Sirius felt worn out. Torn. On the one hand he was mad with worry, so badly, he could barely sit still and didn't know, what to do with himself. Both the kids could have been dead. Could still die. On the other hand he had had the chance to take a very prominent look on the offending.... item.

The Dark Mark that not only marred the skin of the left forearm of his once precious little brother, but that he had taken willingly and consciously. The sign of the most evil wizard known to them and if things were really bad, maybe a possibility to track Regulus down and with him anyone in his proximity.

The Order of Phoenix didn't know. Not in detail. The only dark wizards and followers they had been able to catch alive had refused to talk, before they either got freed again very soon, went to Azkaban more or less willingly or died by their own hands.

Neither was a fate, he had ever wanted for Regulus. But was he able to change his little brother's fate? Could he stir him away from the darkness and safe him? Or was the rift between them too great to bridge, was Regulus truly lost? If so, if the taking of the Mark ended all future, this war's cruelty would only increase, until it knew no boundaries. It wouldn't suffice to kill the head of the snake. They would have to hunt down and kill each and every marked without mercy, and in the end be so scarred that there was no more difference between them and their opponents.

Just, when depression threatened to overwhelm him, Sirius felt Remus friendly hand on his shoulder. A warm cup of tea was placed between his fingers and sympathetic eyes caught his. “We won't let them die, okay?” A wave of tenderness vibrated in the soft, comforting words. Sirius nodded and leaned against Remus' side.

“I was so mad at them... you know? But maybe, if... they might have told us.” Poisonous guilt dripped through his mind and left him devastated in its sudden wake.

“We don't know, what happened” Remus said, taking a sip of tea from his cup. “Don't torture yourself with pointless brooding... there are more important things to do.”

Sirius turned to him just a hint of the old mischief present on his face again. “Like what?”

Remus gave a deeply resigned shrug. “Like preparing the sofas. The little runts have our bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried ending on a higher note here, after the rather grim quality of the last chapter.


	50. What big brothers are for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Lucius have their thoughts over the disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... last fully ready chapter... I will need to get to typing again... But I have a few on paper left, though I fear, I will have to slow down soon. A chapter a day is not manageable with paper copy...   
> Still... I am proud of this one, although there is very little of Regulus and Tris in it.

Something was forced over his lips and trickled down his throat. Its bitter sharpness full of minty ice and hidden barbs bit into his apathy, as it forced him to cough and then heave. Sweet, cool fresh water followed and soothed the pain that living presented to him.

There was no refuge though. Hard, but gentle hands forced his head back and more cool liquid washed the bitterness and pain away. He shivered alive, as suddenly his body remembered, how to feel. Cold, Weakness, hundreds, maybe thousands of different small pains littered all over him, some stinging, some biting, some numb. Every single breath a torture for lungs burned by ice and salt. Each movement blooming new, unpleasant sensations. “no...” he groaned and then, frightened by the broken sound of his own voice fell back into silence.

“Please, Regulus, just a little more.” pleaded a warm, familiar voice. Regulus... that was... him. Was it? Then the other would be... Sirius?

But Sirius was gone, had left him alone in this terrible place, in the darkness, he couldn't escape... hadn't he? Why would Sirius come back for him, after all this time? Why would he suddenly care?

Another smell, another taste ripped through his exhausted thoughts, the warm, sick bittersweet thickness of a healing potion. A strong one, like those, Tristan had given to him. Tristan... Who would now be inconsolable, now, that he was gone.

On instinct he reached out through the bond to feel... to sooth, to comfort. The other end was cold, heavy layers of sadness, fear, desperation, as unbreakable as their bond. Numb pain and dead tiredness, an abyss of exhaustion. Emptiness. No will, no need to survive, now that he was gone. No... He couldn't let go like that, wasn't allowed to. He had to live, had to go on. “No... no...” With pure willpower he clung to the sliver of conscious thought, crawled back to sanity, to life.

He had left Tris behind, the little one would die, alone, without help, left in the dark. He should have never brought him, never have isolated him, never even talked to him. He should have protected him from afar or turned around the day, he knew, he couldn't resist. He would have to live, he had taken up a duty.

Not without difficulties he opened his clotted eyelids. Light blinded him, startled him, and he groaned again. His hands felt for the stony ground, but found none but softness.

Confused he tried to move, but soft firm hands pushed him back, as amber eyes hovered above him. “who'r'u?” he murmured, unable to find any real interest for the answer in his mind. “I'nd't'go.”

Another pair of eyes appeared, grey... dark, clouded by worry and anger. “You stay damn put.” The voice was sad... more worry than anger then. Sad and familiar. Sirius. Again Sirius.

“Si'ris?” he slurred. “You'dead'too?”

\----

Ever since Sirius had seen “the runts” lying half dead in his and Remus' bed, a silent fury had burned in him. He didn't know, why he was angry, or at whom, but it was always there.

He tried not to be angry at Remus, who did his best, especially, when it was only two days until full moon. He couldn't fully resist to lash out though, then and again.

It was almost a relief, when the resolute Hogwarts nurse Madam Pomphrey came in with James, carrying a bag full of potions and medical supplies. They had never gotten along very well, what with him being one of the main reasons for some of her work days and on top of that a terribly impatient client, but he knew, she did her job and her overprotective, slightly accusatory attitude gave him every excuse to be angry at _her_. Unfortunately it really didn't last.

Soon enough, after providing them with a bunch of potions and instructions she left again, and it was once more just Remus and him. He was almost ready to go for a walk, just to tell Moody he wouldn't be able to attain work in the morrow, when Regulus stirred at last. He only moved a bit, but enough to make Remus force a pepper up potion into him, as Madam Pomphrey had advised. He followed it by some water to reduce the sting, it left on a sore throat.

Not really unexpectedly Regulus coughed and tried to turn his head away, but Sirius, happy he could now do something held his head, so he could get at least a little more liquid into him. Regulus whispered something, he couldn't make out that sounded pained. He soothed: “Please, Regulus, just a little more.” Every bit would help, as would the healing potion, they had received. It smelled thick and rich as Remus suntoppered it and forced it carefully into the still almost unconscious boy.

Sirius' anger flared at the sight of his writhing, making it incredibly hard to just keep holding him, while he started fighting in earnest, uttering continuous (and desperate) No's. Sirius knew, even under normal circumstances Remus was better at this. So he left him the lead, silently nursing his anger for the moment, a target became apparent: the person , who had done such to his little brother.

It was the right thing to do. He would never have been able to ease him back so cautiously, when he tried to rise and slurred more near indistinguishable words. He only cursed: “No, you stay damn put.” and leaned forward to get a better view, his eyes finding darker ones. Just, when he wanted to speak again, Regulus recognized him, whispering: “Si'ris... you dead too?”

Icy hands gripped Sirius guts. He had no idea, where that had come from, but it could mean nothing good, and it had happened to _his little brother_.

Biting down on his lip for control he took Regulus' head between his hands and drew soothing circles on his cheeks. “Everything will be okay, Regulus. You will be fine. I am here and I'll take care of you.” It was so hard to be tender, while his heart burned, but it paid off. Slightly more at ease and to weak to resist Regulus relaxed.

“'m so tired...” he mumbled, breaking Sirius' heart all over again. Remus could see it, of course, he knew him too well. So, once Regulus had fallen asleep again – as Madam Pomphrey had implied it might happen, despite the pepper up – he squeezed Sirius' hand and offered: “Go, get rid of some energy. I'll stay and watch out.”

He was immensely grateful for it, he had never been good at waiting nor at confined spaces.; Remus' patience amazed him each time. With a rush that betrayed just how much he needed to get away, Sirius was out of the door and running, not caring much about the where or how, just to get his head clear again. And it worked. The longer he went, the more he exhausted himself, the better he could finally think.

Now, he understood, after all, he was primarily angry about himself. How could he not have known? Not have helped? How could he distance himself from his brother so far, he even considered, not coming to rescue? And what would have happened, if not for Tristan's insistence? Would Regulus truly have died?

For a while, he kicked pieces of dirt along a nameless street, before in the end he decided to head back to the apartment building, getting some takeaway food on the way, because with the kids in their flat, they wouldn't invest much time in preparing something.

He arrived back home, when it was already getting dark, the silhouettes of people clearly visible through the windows in the light of their rooms. They looked so vulnerable. A single curse could kill, a single spell take them out. And Remus was among them, up there, only protected by anonymity.

With the Dark Mark in play, that wouldn't be enough anymore. They would need to move soon, at least the kids had to go and he had no idea, where to. They really couldn't look after themselves just yet. Even Regulus was still just a child, seventeen or not.

It drove another knife into his guilty conscience to realize that. He had been so mad, when he found out about the Mark. He still was. Only the reasons had changed entirely. How could that monster force children into his service? Kids, who didn't even know, what it did to them? How could their parents turn a blind eye on that? Granted, he knew about his parents, but still... And above all, how could he have been so blind until now?

Despite everything Sirius had one thing always taken for granted: A safe place to run, to hide, to recover. Maybe it was time to put uncle Alphard's money to use and find the same for them. And until then, he would need some very decent and slightly illegal wards...

\----

Father found it outrageous. Of course little was to be expected from the likes of Dumbledore as teacher and headmaster of Hogwarts, but losing not one but two pure-blood children without any inkling, where they went and no idea, how to track them and get them back... beggared simply all description.

Lucius tended to agree, but the more hints culminated, both his brother and Regulus Black, annoying self-declared protector of the former and competitor to the Dark Lord's interest, were dead, the less he could find himself to care.

All safety measured around the school were closely examined to avoid repetition of the events, but since no one really knew, how the got away and what had eventually sealed their fate, there was little to be done. An almost perfect outcome. Not only would he be no longer burdened by either his brother or his rival, but Dumbledore's influence at the school would if not be removed, at least decline.

Besides... Lucius had some ideas, about the actual events that led to his brother's demise. In his opinion some of the Dark Lord's followers had finally had enough and had taken fate into their own hand. They probably wouldn't openly brag about it – it was never a good idea to act without the explicit wishes of Voldemort – but discrete investigation might still yield some results, and verify his hopeful guesswork.

In the meantime he was content to see, how his other plans worked out. Little Draco was perfectly placed in custody of his mother, with added ties to the Dark Lord via his godfather, another appreciated member of the inner circle, Severus Snape, who was – although a half-blood – even more fanatic than most. He would be removed from such unpleasant influences the likes of his brother and the Blacks presented.

And to make his triumph even sweeter, father's health wasn't at his best. He dared not even think, it had something to do with the expensive fire-whiskey Narcissa had given him as a gift to show her devotion to the family, as these were dangerous thoughts. He liked to indulge in her proficiency as a wife though. He could have had no more perfect companion for the future.

Once he was Lord of House Malfoy, once the Blacks had fallen and left his heir as their final scion, due to his ties with one of their daughters, once his services for the Dark Lord would be acknowledged and the foolish opposition crushed, his plans would come to fruition.

And until then, he played the long game and kept himself carefully out of peril. He would mourn his father, as it was proper, he would educate his son, as it was proper and he would most certainly continue to make sure , he could deny everything, as it was also proper. It was, as far as he was informed, good tradition for house Malfoy to let even the most monstrous deeds slip away, without tainting their reputation... They prepared for everything after all... even for the Dark Lord's fall, should the opportunity arise to arrange it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This for me, is the charterstone of the relationships within both families. We will come back to that... promise.


	51. Waking up in foreign beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan finally find back to themselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler, or rather, the necessary respite after the last few chapters... Less nightmare ahead... a potential shovel talk aside ;)

It just wasn't fair. You really shouldn't get hungry anymore, once you were dead. Yet, it wasn't meant to be. All that precious apathy , devoid of pain, disturbed by something as simple as hunger. Granted, it was gut-wrenching, primal, almost feral hunger, but it still served as a quite some disappointment.

Unwillingly he opened his eyes and looked around in rising confusion. Where in Merlin's name was he? Patterned walls and a non-descript quilt gave no answer. Neither did the pale body almost buried in blankets next to him. For minutes it seemed insignificant, until sudden recognition dawned. And he started digging to verify his cautiously hopeful assumption.

The result of his attempt was both successful and worrying. The tense, pained face below the blankets was the expected one, yet did nothing to reassure him, as it looked almost bluish pale and haggard. Concern started to choke him, when a door opened. Someone stepped in, carrying a tray, that emitted heavenly smells and caught his attention effectively.

“Lupin?” he asked full of confusion, as the man, he knew was friends with his brother, placed the food in front of him and sat down on a chair closeby.

He nodded and suggested then: “Eat, but slowly, you don't want to get sick.” He didn't press the point though, just seemed intent to stay and watch.

Regulus took a sip from the glass of water that accompanied the food and relished the instant relief, it brought. His throat had felt, as if it was coated with sandpaper. “Where am I?” he tried hoarsely.

“That doesn't matter” Lupin replied. “Somewhere safe.” He looked around thoughtful, before adding: “Your brother will be back soon. “

If he had hoped to calm Regulus, he had failed spectacularly, as it made him break out in feverish activity. Downing some more water, casting a regretful look at the scrambled eggs andtoast, before putting them aside and searching for his clothes he followed each other so fast, Remus' interruption came almost too late: “Stop, calm down, you'll get nowhere like this. Besides... I thought you might want to tell us, what's up with him?”

Regulus guiltily followed Lupin's look on Tristan and sank back into the blankets. Unfortunately the man was right. Sirius or no, he really couldn't leave like that. That he didn't have any idea, what happened to Tris either, left him even more at loss, but he wasn't ready to admit it yet, so he bought some time by taking the first bite of food, chewing thoroughly. It felt incredibly good and bad at the same time.

It was probably the best thing he had ever eaten and his stomach grumbled insistently to demand more of the same. The smells and sounds did however nothing to wake the smaller figure next to him the slightest. Tristan lay dead still and looked quite lifeless too.

Slowly, over the next few chunks of food his hand crept over, very cautiously touching the skin in apprehension of what it might find. Too soon and not nearly soon enough his fingertips brushed over the smaller boys pajama-covered torso, hard to say, exactly where, under the bunch of blankets.

The skin, although even more pale than usual was warm, not as warm as Regulus' own, but unmistakably alive.

“I don't know, what happened to him.” he admitted, the voice unsteady and weak. “I... don't remember anything after...” the lake. The cave, the gate and the lake. There was no way, he could tell this to anyone, least of all Sirius' misfit friend. What he had done, how he had fought, needed to remain secret.

He munched some more food, trying in vain to look less horrified. There was no way, he could have escaped. There was no way, he could have survived. All this had to be a dream, a cruel nightmare, waking his hope, before plunging him deeper into despair.

But Tristan was beyond the lake, Tris could still get away, flee; he had to wake him, he had to...

Lupin's fist hit his collar with a sharp, almost painful impact, shoving him against the headboard. “Breathe, slowly. In on the count of four, then out again.”

Under Regulus struggles the tray shifted, sending glass and dish and food to the ground with a shattering noise. He startled and looked at it with a different kind of terror. Instinctively he reached for his wand to repair the small disaster, before his parents would notice – so much for inbuilt reactions...

The wand was blatantly absent. The rational part of his mind pointed out that he was in pajamas that simply left no space for a wand. Besides... he would have disarmed Lupin too, given the chance. He didn't feel very rational though. He felt panicked and lonely and vulnerable and... did he think panicked already? Above all panicked.

Even harsh pure-blood discipline couldn't conceal that. He tried to fight Lupin's grip, tried to get up and to free himself.

An almost silent sigh from his side alarmed them both. As if agreed, they parted, looking over.

“Remus?” whispered a soft, fragile voice. “Did we get him?”

A wave of tenderness robbed Regulus' breath more effectively than any panic attack could.

\----

From the viewpoint of a healer, it was possibly the worst idea ever to just leave the room discretely, having the kids remain unattended. But from his personal experience Remus knew, motivation was the better part of recovery, and he could imagine no better way to help them, than to let them have some time by themselves. He would clean up later, bring them some food and help them clean up with a cloth, for he didn't trust them enough to let them use the bathroom alone and at least Regulus wouldn't appreciate assistance in that matter.

For now, he set his steps back to the kitchen, pondering his options to prepare something, they might both like and be able to digest after days of near unconsciousness , where only potions ensured their survival.

On the kitchen counter waited two wands, oddly similar to each other, lying side by side, as if they needed company. One was a little longer and more ornate than the other, but both were dark, glistening from something that had permeated their surface and worn from a use that by far exceeded, what kids their age should have accomplished. Remus knew Tristan's wand well enough to differentiate it from Regulus' instrument, but it looked changed. In equal measures rejuvenated and aged. A bit like driftwood that under the constant influence of water and magic obtained a beauty, unknown to its original state. He couldn't say for sure for the other wand, but judging by their resemblance, whatever had done this to them, they had faced it together.

Still deep in thought Remus barely noticed when the door opened and Sirius stepped back in, giving him a casual hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Most have been a little lonesome” he half asked over the shoulder, while checking the inbuilt refrigerator for something to drink.

Remus disagreed, smiling about Sirius' not very subtle but sweet diversion tactic. “Actually no... I did some reading, and then the kids woke up...” He should have learned by this point, how impulsive Sirius could be.

Without missing a beat, he threw the fridge shut and headed for the door to the bedroom, only stopping, when he was already half through. “Oh, damn... Sorry.”

\----

Regulus couldn't manage to care any less, if Lupin was still in the room, or not. Though the part of him that valued his proper upbringing appreciated to hear the door closing. The rest though was completely concentrated on removing blanket after blanket carefully, until he found dark brown hair and silvery gray eyes. He wasn't able to say something, not even a name, as ave after wave of pure relief coursed through his body. Only his breath trembled happily, as he studied each feature of his lover's face, as if in fear to have forgotten about it.

Tristan met his gaze, the face slowly turning from confused to an expression of almost painful joy. Slowly, tenderly he raised one hand to touch Regulus' face with his fingertips, showing nothing short of disbelief. “You are alive. ..” he whispered barely audible, repeating it, again and again, tears filling his eyes.

Regulus caught the hand with his own and placed tentative kisses into the palm, before reaching out and mirroring the gesture to touch Tristan's cheek, the thumb caressing still boyishly soft, though now roughed skin. It took all his restraint to lean over slowly, to kiss gently, instead of just conquering his mouth.

But all the want poured into something more precious. His soul, his life was still breathing, but weak. His smaller companion deserved all consideration. “You look ragged, love...” he murmured right into his ear and flinching, then blushing.

Tris still managed to answer only slightly accusatory: “I'll be fine, I was worried about you.” There was no point in bragging , it never worked with the little one anyways, so unlike the expected he admitted: “If seen better days.”

Now, Tristan leaned in, stealing a kiss , leaving Regulus both happy and slightly worried again. His movements looked to jerky, unnatural, tinted with pain. That couldn't be good. He crawled closer, until he could fit an arm around the smaller figure, both showing affection and subtlety looking for injury, all the while never breaking sight.

With a sob Tristan bridged the last bit of distance and settled in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time, leaving him at loss, what to do now. Before he could fingure something out, though, the door opened catching both their attention.

“Oh damn, sorry.” Sirius. Almost apologizing. Looking concerned. In Regulus' opinion that equaled the world coming to an abrupt stop. All he could do, was not to stare, while several instincts in him fought for immediate actions.

He was practically frozen in the decision to jump at his brother to hug him, to bite his face off, to protect Tristan, to flee, to...

Judging by the hint of abashed insecurity he faced the same set of decisions. It made for a rather uncomfortable silence that went on, until Tristan tried to interfere. He rose, more than slightly shaky and sighed in exasperation. “Could you please stop this stupid animosity? Sort it out, for Merlin's sake.”With that, he parted from Regulus and left, pajamaed and bare-footed and gripping on every hold he could find to the bathroom, throwing one last pleading look.

Regulus watched him go, then turned his focus back to Sirius. “So... How do we do this?”

\----

The school board had called for a full investigation team on the school grounds. The disappearance of not one but two students during the term seemed to call for actions to appease the parents concerns. And rightly so, in Madam Pomphrey's opinion. Of course, she knew more than anyone here. More than Albus, more than Minerva, but she kept silent, as she agreed. Under the current circumstances it seemed the sensible thing to do.

But finding her assistant and his best friend in such a state as she had seen, clearly spoke of extended problems with the students' safety, no matter, how cunning or clever those students were. It wasn't as if they housed the likes of Slytherin and Ravenclaw since yesterday, although she had to admit, that they rarely worked together that effectively.

The teachers should have taken better care anyways. Especially in the very fragile situation surrounding both of them. Of course neither of them was very forthcoming to the MLE investigators, so it was certainly not Poppy Pomphrey's responsibility to do so. She answered the questions regarding Tristan's work at the Infirmary and his talents, but not those about their prior and current health situation. They really shouldn't have even tried without explicit permission from the kids' families and a very good reason, why this was important.

But since they didn't even have a clue, it seemed just another shot into the blue and she wasn't willing to break her professional confidence for their curiosity alone.

Besides, their were some other interesting findings, though, as far as Poppy, with her superior knowledge could say, neither had to do with the incident. For instance: one of the corridors deep in the dungeons showed extensive traces of fire magic and remnants of something else. It was likely, an unspeakable would be called to identify the exact magical residues, if no other more promising trace would be found.

In addition, the incident of Regulus' extensive injury and surprisingly fast recovery was reviewed. And Regulus' regular participation in the Slughorn club.

Poppy was somewhat relieved, when the investigation concentrated on more obvious targets, like the possibility of circumventing the wards. She really didn't want to explain for the third time, why a student was working at her side (and find another good explanation, why this was even necessary, without revealing her less school-related activities).

Besides... there was really no good reason to poke around in their private life, now, that she knew, they were safe, was there?


	52. We never dreamt to get so far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four people together in a two-room-flat. And lots of internal tension...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit on the short side today... And I can't keep up with the typing... I hate this so much... :(  
> Anyways: we are getting places. Looking out for my new laptop, I already know, what I want, now I have to figure out, if I can afford it ;)

Obviously there wasn't everything fine between the brothers Black,the uncomfortable silences, strange gazes, little involuntary flinches were all telling. But the ability to sit at the same table and eat together after years of conflict, some major betrayals and a year of complete silence, was a hopeful start in Tristan's eyes. And to be honest: he needed that.

Even after a few days of Remus' good care he still felt tired and empty. He had little panic attacks, the moment Regulus was out of sight. He was in pain, close to tears or unable to find even the strength to talk, most of the time.

Not additionally having to worry about Sirius and Regulus going for each other's throat was a treat. Especially when he could see clearly, how both longed for reconciliation. Funny, really, how they danced around each other, Sirius like a clumsy puppy, Regulus like a stick figure and tried not to upset the other, without ever saying something.

It was not his way to point that out, though, he had been healer long enough to know, some things just took time. Besides, there were more pressing matters, so when all four of them sat together for dinner, he gathered what resolve he had and started with careful deadpan: “It's been nice of you to help us out, but now, that we are up and walking, it's getting a little crowded. We have to stop bothering you..”

It was hard not to smirk and even harder not to flinch at the astonished glares he received from both Sirius and Remus. He still stubbornly added: “Before you even suggest it: we can't go back.”

He could see Regulus nod slightly, although he, too, was surprised by Tristan's approach to the topic. For now, he looked content with listening, only willing himself to talk, once it would be necessary.

Sirius had no such limitations. “Really?” he groaned. “Why not, for Godric's sake?”

Tristan sighed. “I know, you think, I'm just saying this because I want to go all in.” He shook his head “And it's true, I am not overly fond of D... the mentor. But I'm not happy without a plan B either. I wouldn't do it, if I had a choice.”

Sirius looked very doubtful, while Remus, as often, awaited the argument to make up his mind. But what to tell them? They would never understand that, at this point, at least for Regulus and him Hogwarts was just as dangerous as it would be out here. Maybe more so, with the Mark and the death eaters among the students and the rumors about them. He paused, thinking, only to watch in astonishment, how finally Regulus spoke out.

“It's too dangerous. And besides... if you don't want the... Dark Lord to summon me back, I'd better stay dead, don't you think?” His voice was now so very Slytherin. The voice for dealing with Slughorn. The voice for humiliating Lucius. The voice, Sirius hated.

He was half over the table, before the sentence ended, not knowing, what he would do next. “He'd not be able to, if you hadn't been so goddamn stupid!”

Both Remus and Tristan rose to keep the brothers apart, for there was no saying, how it would end, and they had had enough healing for at least a month. It turned out to be unnecessary though, in very unexpected ways. “Maybe I wouldn't” they heard Regulus counter and feared for the worst. “If I had had someone who supported me.”

The presumed explosion on Sirius' side didn't come, instead he fell back to his chair, part guilty, part hurt. “I tried.” It was just a whisper. It was enough.

“I know, and I am sorry, too.” Regulus stilled, looking for once like the vulnerable, desperate boy he still was, but who no one but Tristan ever got to see.

The following silence was strangely comfortable in its sheepishness. It was lightened by Remus, making tea , Tristan, slowly moving, giving first Sirius' shoulder a squeeze, then moving over to Regulus, leaning against the older boy's back and huffing softly onto his crown. With a warm cup and some biscuits in each pair of hand, they eventually returned to the conversation.

“So we can't go back. I... needed to disappear. Lest the Dark Lord or cousin Bella took interest in me. Again.” He choose not to elaborate and for now, no one dared asking. One day soon, Tristan decided, he would face the demons, help Regulus redeem his soul, but now was not the time nor the place.

Remus furrowed his brow, thoughtfully and summarized: "But you have no place to go, no money, no job, not even a decent chance for something serious without NEWTs, and, I presume , no plan?” It sounded less cynic and more worried, than he might have wanted. “Hell, you are kids, still, you don't belong into this... mess.”

As one they looked at him, with too old, too wise eyes, faces of sorrow, resignedly still hands. “There wasn't much of a choice.” Regulus answered and Tristan added: “We didn't anticipate to actually survive.”

And suddenly it was there, the question neither of their hosts had dared asking up to this point. What in Merlin's name have you done? It didn't matter, no one voiced it. It screamed even louder through the silence.

“Well...” Regulus grinned, sheepishly mischievous. “We stole something of great value from... him.” After some silent exchange of sorts, just through looks and projected feelings, Regulus and Tristan decided to trust Sirius and Remus. A little.

Even Tris voted against trusting someone else, explaining: “You know the rest of the... Order. Better than I do. You know, how they look at me, even after I patch them up. Just because of the face. For them, I will always be a traitor. Imagine, what they would think of Regulus.”

At this point, the usual roles were suddenly reversed. Remus tried to defend the Order, pointlessly, while Sirius looked sad and understanding. “You are right...” he finally admitted, not without the bitterness of hard-earned experience. Of course.... he would have had it too, with that name...

They – all three pure-bloods – made Remus promise, not to tell, before Regulus explained his findings about the blasphemy that was the dark Lord's soul and their plans of stealing the split part.

He started to get vague at the implementation, probably only partly, because he didn't remember it all. Tristan outright refused to fill the details. He had not even told Regulus yet, what he had done, and doubted, he ever would. No chance there of telling someone else. Before they could pry, he left the kitchen, leaving them to discuss the matter. They had time to talk about future plans later.

\----

Fate had strange ways to distinguish between “before” and “after”. There were few points in life that changed one's whole universe so completely that they deserved such labels. And it weren't necessarily the obvious ones. There wasn't before and after Tristan, or before and after his sad declaration of love. There wasn't even a before and after the Mark for Regulus.

But there was before and after the moment he woke up and realized, he had almost killed the little one. The moment he not quite but almost understood, he hadn't been alone in this. And that Tris could definitely pull his own weight now.

Before he had always seen himself as protector, as master of every situation, as the stronger link, despite his lover having his moments from time to time.

After... he wasn't so sure anymore. He couldn't remember, how he'd managed to escape the cave of Voldemort's horcrux, and he had the distinct feeling, he should. That there was something too important to be forgotten.

In addition his composure hat severely suffered. He couldn't find it in him to deny himself the pleasure of touching, what he desired most., only because his brother or Lupin were around. In the before, he had never more than brushed by his lover's body or face in even the tiniest perceived public. The after saw him plant soft kisses to Tristan's brow or lips or jaw, his hand seeking contact with arm, back, neck, face.

It saw him bite down small jolts of jealousy on the familiarity Tris shared with both their hosts. With Remus, at least, he knew, what he was jealous about. With Sirius... he could never say, which he missed more. Touch or be touched, being close to brother, to lover or both.

It made his head spin and gave him hard times, not to fall back into the almost obsessively possessive behavior of their first days. Back then it had been a necessary step, now it would just plainly ignore the person Tristan had become, and weigh down on the trust they shared.

And it had its gratifications, not to take, what he wanted, but to have it gifted to him. To have Tristan come to him, when Sirius was out for work (prying git, out of the book) and Lupin discreetly left them on their own devices.

He would settle in his lap or be plastered to his side, and they would talk, undisturbed. “We need something to provide ourselves... The Order.... let's say, they haven't been very forthcoming, even without your involvement.”

Regulus nodded, less lost in thought, than he wanted to be. It would have been so easy , so gratifying to forget about it all, just for a few days. They didn't have that luxury. “The point is: we can't openly hod a job, even if someone was willing to take a wizard barely of age and without any credentials.”

He felt Tris inquiring eyes on him, the face turned into a slight scowl. “Who said, it has to be you? I am underage, but I can get some credentials, if I try.”

He didn't even consider it. Blacks didn't live of other people's money. “Exactly. You are underage. You can't even take up a contract on your own. And who wouldn't turn to your father then and make both him and Lucius aware, you are still alive.”

The look he received told him, again, Tristan had been meant to be a Slytherin. He had been lead on and now the booby trap sprung. “there is the offer of apprenticeship in Oxford...” the edge of being outscored at this point was smoothed by a soft smile and even softer hands. “I didn't want to. But by now it's our best option. With their interest and your negotiation skills...”

Regulus couldn't help but smile. Of course, Tris wouldn't be above a bit of flattery, if it helped (or seemed to help) his cause. And it was effective, because it was true. He could contribute something. His name, his confidence, his honed scheming skills. He didn't have Tristan's highly specific skill set, but his own, that would enable him to keep them safe. If only he managed to swallow his pride - a task of its own after his upbringing.

“Fine. We'll talk to them. Make sure, they have some decent precautions.. And something to offer. You might need to stop this... Order thing though. “ And wouldn't that be a pity? Regulus could hardly contain himself.

“If that is, what it takes... I'd always chose you first, them second.”

Regulus felt a little guilty for being so damned thankful for that. And by the way, since when had he gotten so terribly selfless that he knew, he would fight for Tristan's right to continue at least part of his work, despite himself? No wonder, pure-bloods looked down on love-marriages. If this was, what love did to you, there was no way, they would have kept the old families going for so long, without a decent strategy on arranged companionship .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, you like some fluff and some relationship-stuff and some... characterdevelopment? Is that a no? In that case: no fish sticks for you ;)


	53. Old habits die hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris goes on an excursion, leaving Regulus behind with Remus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's update took me some patience to work it out, and just yesterday I realized a plothole, big enough for Voldi's army to march through. That is fixed now, lucky me. And lucky you, of course, or the update would have been late...

He knew, it was coming, before the door even opened. Sirius had been late, bad omen. Remus knew that too, and was accordingly nervous. Then, whoever came, neared the door loudly, banged on it. Not Sirius then, but someone in the know, that alohomora was the fastest way to some serious problems. When Remus opened up, he, meaning one of the aurors Tristan didn't know by name, stumbled in, smelling of blood and violence. “The healer...” he panted. “We need the healer. Black said, he would be here.” Tristan cursed silently. This was really bad for staying dead.... But if Sirius forgot, or if he chose to ignore it, it was probably bad. No choice there.

He still did not step into the room right away, but donned some of Remus' clothes plus a coat with deep hood, and waited for Remus signal then. When he tried to go, Regulus held him back though. “No....”

He sighed softly. “This is what I do. You knew, it would come. And you knew all the other times. “ Maybe not _all_ the other times... His hand lay still on Regulus', not even trying to pry it away. “It could be your brother..”

Regulus wouldn't budge so easily. “It could be dangerous.”

To that, Tristan laughed sadly. “It will be.“

“I need to come, protect you.” He sounded already beaten.

“You can't.” With that, he took Regulus' hand, kissed the palm and let it fall. “I'll come back, as soon as I can.” He knew, what he was asking. He also knew, Regulus had expected the same of him. It had never been easy. And one day, one wouldn't return. He sure hoped, it was because of family duties and not death.

“Wait.” Regulus straightened his hair and took his wand out to cast a glamour on him. “Take care...”

\----

The glamour had been a good idea. So had Remus old clothes. The problem was, that wasn't enough. The side-along-apparition had worked out pretty well, as the other didn't care much about him, as long as he could drop him off in time. But the rest of the present people... were a problem. They were Moody trained and therefore distrustful to the bone. Any unknown face caused them to fall into battle stance, and the known one might lead to an early discovery of his not quite so dead status by persons who really shouldn't know.

He would have to built a full new persona based on some adjustments he could easily repeat. And even then, it would only serve as temporary help. It might save the other side from finding out, but definitely not the Order. His strengths and weaknesses were to characteristic to be mistaken for anything else.

Fortunately, Sirius appeared soon and, identifying him by his clothes (or rather not _his_ clothes) lead him to the place, they set up for him, where some injured wizards were already waiting, one of them breathing elaborately, because of a hex slowly petrifying him. It was him, why they had called, him, why it couldn't wait and Tristan got to work quickly.

After a while, when the worst part was over and they were searching the area for more death eaters and the reason, why they had been there and planted a Dark Mark to the sky, he had a moment with Sirius alone. “Listen... we need a better plan. “

\----

Regulus had always thought, the waiting was worst. Guessing, but not knowing. Feeling the urgency, the feverish concentration, the underlying fear, and not being able to do anything about it.

He had had no idea. Waiting, while you had nothing to do, nothing to occupy yourself with, _that_ was worst. Minutes crept along like hours, adding up to imaginary days. The hands too unresting to even make tea without the risk to mess it up, the walls too close, the light too weak.

He didn't even know, how he ended up, opposite to Lupin on the sofa. “Tell me about him.” The tone of the voice was not truly friendly, but already lacked the former distance. You couldn't live in the only two rooms for days without finding at least something likable. Or murder each other.

“Which?” the other countered, slightly amused. His smile died a silent death on Regulus' answer.

“I really don't know that much about either.” Bitterness and guilt lowered his voice to a whisper. “Less than I should.”

Lupin watched him sympathetically. “Its never easy. To stay behind, I mean. When the little one started, it gave us headaches. But he is careful, I assure you. And very, very good.” He looked, like he wanted to say more, but then relented. Changing the topic, he added belatedly: “And Sirius... He has been doing this a long time, I always tell myself.”

There was a strange kind of sentiment in that, almost forcing Regulus to see Lupin in a different light. He hadn't realized, how close those two were. He always assumed, Potter had Sirius' attention and affection monopolized. But maybe this was, what came out of including Evans into the equation. Still... Lupin's concerns were noteworthy enough.

“Have they... been hurt?” He wasn't sure, what he was really asking. And if he wanted Lupin to lie.

The other seemed to weigh the same questions. He took a long time for his answer. “Tris... rarely, and only superficially. He stays out of things, and people usually watch out for him. Doesn't pay to lose the only healer, you have in the field. “ A pregnant pause filled up with untold emotion. “Sirius... I don't get to see the worst of it. But... you know him. He is wild, reckless, always in the center of things. Before it got so... real, we used to joke, if it was him or James getting themselves killed first.” His eyes wandered into the distance and Regulus couldn't help but squeeze his hand, just for second. It had been so damn stupid to think, they were the only ones , who worried, who hurt... The only ones, who had something to lose, who felt vulnerable or helpless.

“I'll make tea” he offered, suddenly understanding, why Lupin did that all the time. Everything was less suffocating, when your hands were occupied.

Lupin followed him into the kitchen, sitting down on a chair, right there.

“I get, we are not exactly friends, but I know a whole lot about you. And him and you.” He exhaled noisily, before going on. “Not that he is telling that much...”

It was hard, not to fall into Slytherin distrust immediately. Even someone so obviously, stupidly gryffindorish as Lupin always bore a risk... Maybe even more so, because you would never see it coming. “What are you insinuating?”

Remus looked down on his hands. “Not insinuating. Saying. He loves you. More than anything. More than his life. If someone is going to get him killed... it is you. He is not your brother, who will walk into danger... and usually out again without much thought. But...” He didn't seem intent to end the sentence.

He didn't need to. Regulus understood very well. But he would do it for you. But he already did. But you need to get your life sorted out, before he pays the price.

“I left” he growled, more resigned than angry. “I know, I fucked up. But I left.”

Remus looked up, sucking on his teeth and shrugged. “I hope, it will suffice. I really do. I wish....”

“Yeah, me too.” Regulus interrupted, handing him the cup. Some things were better left unsaid.

\----

They came back together, safe and sound, the hair still wet from the clean-up, they had done somewhere, looking so utterly unabashed like the two pure-blood boys they were, after a night of partying.

With practiced ease they avoided to show any signs of distressed, the understandable tiredness aside. They could have been just friends or they could have been brothers, the familiarity of gesture and habitus overshadowing the lack of similarity.

Regulus could have slapped them or hugged them, both at the same time. How dared they look like nothing happened? And how joyous did his heart jump to see them out of harm.

Lupin seemed to feel the same, though it was hard to say, with his silent, unassuming presence and just the usual sad smile. But strangely, where Regulus felt shy, shamefully unequipped to handle this, he knew. He knew. He stepped forward, placing one hand on Sirius' nape, both protective and relieved, planting one firm, warm kiss on Sirius' lips. Oh... Oh damn. They were close... close indeed.

Regulus tried not to stare open-mouthed, but it only worked, when he started to concentrate solely on Tristan's sheepish, wonderfully innocent grin. Gods... He needed to stop being a prim pure-blood hypocrite and start being the affectionate partner, the should have been for a long time now. If only that had been so simple. But where Sirius took Remus' mouth and plundered it thoroughly, he couldn't even reach out.

It didn't matter. Tris was his. Tris understood. Tris took his hand and pulled him away, out of sight, safely hidden, before kissing him with a desperate hunger that belied any effortless ease, he had pretended before.

No more lies, they had told each other half a dozen times now. And Regulus knew, he wouldn't if asked. Regulus just wasn't sure, he really wanted the answers. It would have been so easy to turn away and stay blissfully ignorant. But then, again, Tristan would bear it all alone. And he could feel, there was a lot to bear.

“Tell me” he said, taking Tristan's face between his hands, locking their eyes tenderly.

The little one shook his head softly. “Sirius and I... we didn't want to bring it here...” The soft vibration of sadness in his voice made it all the more obvious, that his insistence would be needed.

“Tell me” he told him again, not commanding, but pleading. Ordering Tris around, even when he tended to obey had never worked well with helping him.

“The bastards killed a witch named Doria Sandburgh and all her family. She cared for elderly wizards and squibs. It was... awful.” It was a truth. It was not _the_ truth. It was just a distraction to appease him. He gave Tris just an accusatory look, and his lover faltered. “Nearby lived a muggle family. Lots of kids. They killed each and every one of them.” Slowly his voice started shivering, as he neared the thing, that he didn't want to tell. “It wasn't... pretty. It was... “ He broke away from finding the right word, before the synonyms overwhelmed him. Terrible, awful, horrific were only the most obvious choices.

Instead he added: The mother was still alive... somehow. I... I tried. I really did. But she wouldn't let me close, and she was screaming and bleeding and... she was afraid. Of me. Of all people, of me. Because I had a wand. When Sirius stunned her, it was too late. Couldn't save her.” Tris had never been good with death. With losing. He was obsessed with fighting it, defying all the chances. “And... I had nothing to do, see? Not anymore. And Regulus... all the dead children...”

The pure-blood upbringing provided: only muggles. The more compassionate part, Tris had bared to the world, couldn't bring him to agree anymore. Sad as it was to realize, the word was not a pleasant place, at least he walked around not following blindly anymore. At least he could give some comfort.

He embraced the little one and provided: “It isn't your fault. You could have done nothing different. And if you had been there earlier, you might be dead, too.”

Tristan relaxed into the hug that fitted so well, his hand resting easily on Regulus' chest. What it would be like, when he eventually caught up in height? Would it be awkward? Part of Regulus hoped for it to never happen. He liked being just that bit taller, just that bit wider, so he could shield Tris from the world.

And he chastised himself for being so easily distracted. To fall into comfortable thoughts, because the ones his lover brought home simply.... hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One imaginary washing machine for the person guessing in the comments, what the plothole was ;)


	54. Burying the hatchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some peace talks are in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly proud of this chapter and dedicate it to EvilKiwi (who probably knows, why).   
> It felt really good to write that...

Tris on the transfigured sofa and asleep, that was a good thing. Ever the light sleeper, it took him ages to calm down after events like this. And Regulus hadn't dared using the most obvious tactic for fear, his brother or Lupin might catch them, even now, in the dead of the night.

Right now, they were reduced to fast flings in the bathroom, so Regulus ached to get them some place of their own. Until then...

He heard a noise, as someone tried in vain to move silently through the living room and into the kitchen. He was startled right away, but decided not to move, until he was absolutely sure, the smaller boy hadn't woken up. Only then did he slip away, tucking Tris in, so he wouldn't get cold and headed for the kitchen, where a small sliver of light betrayed another restless spirit.

It was Sirius, sitting on a kitchen chair, half perched on the table, staring into nothingness. As far from the image of the carefree pure-blood sunnyboy that for years had been burned into Regulus' mind, whenever he thought of him. Everything had seemed so easy for the older Black. Defying their parents wishes, creating his own dreams and chasing them, paying no mind to consequences.

Regulus had known, his brother paid dearly for these freedoms, had endured scolding, corporal punishment, any number of small cruelties. He just never had looked like he cared. Or like Regulus should. It had been their secret. Hide behind me, little brother, I know of your weaknesses and I will protect you. I hold you and keep you until the darkness goes away.

There was no saying, when it went sour. When Regulus no longer fit into Sirius' shadow, no longer could or wanted to trade worship for safety. Only... it had never been a trade in the first place, as Sirius had never asked for anything. All he knew was, it had been broken, had taken hit after hit, disappointment after betrayal, slight after hurt, until it dissolved into nothing, and left them both... damaged.

But watching the open, festering wounds, bare to the sight now, the burning guilt and tiring grief, pierced all the wards he had raised around the memories of once and drove tears into his eyes.

Making up his mind he stepped into the kitchen and set up the kettle, busying himself, until the initial awkwardness wore off. When he was more or less sure, he wouldn't cry, he turned towards the table, studying Sirius studying him...

“I didn't want to hurt you... when I left... you know?” Sirius said to no one in particular. “Only... I couldn't anymore...” With broken sadness he looked away, the hands spread out on the surface of the table, silent in their helplessness.

Regulus filled two cups, placed them on the table and sat down opposite to his brother. “I wasn't hurt. I was angry. You'd always been strong. My role model. And suddenly...”

Sirius shrugged, inhaling. “You wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't let me explain. I tried to be there anyways... but I think, I just gave up, after a while...” Tentatively he reached for the cup and took a sip.

What could Regulus say? He hadn't wanted explanations, he wanted his brother back. He had felt betrayed, lonesome, forgotten. If he hadn't needed Sirius' help he might have never gone back. Maybe not even for uncle Alphard's death. And now, what an irony, the two glorious scions of “tojour pur” sat in a muggle flat, on a bland kitchen table and drank merely passable tea, puzzling together what remained of their life after the implosion of said philosophy.

“I'm sorry, Sirius. I should have listened.” He buried his fingernails into the palms to keep his face, probably in vain, for his brother knew him far better than anyone else and could see, how lost he felt.

It was so familiar, he didn't even flinch, when Sirius reached out. “I'm sorry, too, you know? I should have told you before. .. should have... kept trying... should have looked out better. I don't know...” With one gesture of frustration he swept the cups of the table, leaving a mess of shards and hot tea water. “I know, I failed you, but I can't for the sake of Merlin figure out, where I went wrong. Or how to change anything really. I know, it's my damn fault, you took the Mark, my fault, you almost got yourself killed.” He kicked the table for good measure and leaned back, frowning.

It so strangely resembled little Sirius pouting, when even smaller Regulus didn't want to grant him a wish, that it hurt, physically. It was laughing or crying, really, and he wasn't very good at the latter. “Ha, as if I couldn't fuck up on my own. As if I needed you for that” he mocked, staying dangerously close to his own injuries. Sirius deserved that much honesty. “I did some really bad stuff. And I... I... feel, like I don't even deserve proper regret. Or forgiveness.” The taunting smile on his face grew increasingly tortured.

With a sigh Sirius took his wand and repaired the cups, deadpanning: “Seems, we might need them after all.” He filled them with something that shared nothing but the color with tea though. Taking the first liberal gulp , he then turned back to Regulus. “I love you, little brother. No matter what. You probably shouldn't tell me, I mean... I am an auror after all. But I will try to help you with all I have.”

Regulus took some, too, suppressing a cough, after the first sharp burning sensation. “I didn't want to love you, big brother. I didn't want your help either... But... right now... thank you. Just... thank you. I owe you.”

It weren't the words, he needed and Sirius looked incredibly hurt. Back then, he would have lashed out, made some grim joke, anything to hide the fact that he was human, that he could still be injured. That Sirius, so slippery, so unfazed, so unseizable, was gone. This Sirius, who had seen blood and death and grief and sorrow, sat silent, a deceiving shimmer in his eyes, silent, until Regulus could bear it no more.

“But after all this... in the very end... I love you too.” He looked guilty, not for admitting it, but for taking so long. “We are pretty fucked, aren't we?”

Sirius chuckled, making it all better. “Yeah, and the only way out is through...”

They sat until sunrise, talking, drinking.

\----

“Albus doesn't believe, they are dead. And neither should you.” Moody wasn't in the best mood, and Sirius knew the scent of last nights activities had to do with that. He would have scolded him properly, if this had been a work day, but it was an emergency meeting, Dumbledore had wanted, after finally figuring out, Regulus and Tristan had slipped away at Hogsmeade.

Remus at his side shrugged as if implying, they of all people had the least to do with that, and added with just the right amount of sarcasm: “It's not as if either would come running for help to us, what with the discord between Sirius and Regulus and the fact that we were specifically asked to discourage any action like this.” Moody probably wouldn't pass the hidden accusations on to Dumbledore, which was a pity, but he would believe them. Or pretend to.

“It's just... you know serpent best. Any idea, where he would go?” Moody was nothing, if not insistent.

Now it was James declining. “Moody, the hols aside, he never spends much time with us. And last Christmas was... difficult, to be frank.”

Now Sirius felt it safe to chime in too: “It's not like _we_ were in charge of their care, right?”

Minerva McGonagall, the only Hogwarts resident to manage participating at this meeting and still fond of her former students, sighed. “Albus might have underestimated their resolve. Besides...” She shifted in her seat uneasily. “There were no obvious signs. No preparations, no... “ She shook her head. “In my opinion they didn't go by their own choice, but that's just me. Albus...” She shrugged non-committal.

Remus smirked . Sirius could see it out of the corner of his eye and wasn't sure, it was wise, though he envied him. _He_ couldn't risk that. “So Dumbledore wants us to turn around every stone, because he messed up? That's highly inefficient. And... what if they _are_ dead?”

To that, Moody grumbled: “Would be a pity, ya know? One damn good healer and one probably good spy.... where we have none yet...”

It was definitely wiser to keep him out of it. He wouldn't let Regulus stay... And by now, Sirius was pretty sure, returning would get Regulus killed. But what were the alternatives? They wouldn't be able to handle this alone forever. The kids would need help, setting up a homebase, finding a way of support.

James wouldn't do. He had Lily and Harry and the complications of living around a fidelius. He would visit, if he could, help even, as would Lily, but their options were limited. And Peter... well... he never found out, what exactly went on between Tris and him, but describing it “tense” was polite.

Most of the others didn't fit either. He knew of their distrust of him and it was worse with Tristan. They would throw Regulus to the wolves without a second thought. That left, ironically Minerva, if he could get hold of her. She was of course closest to Dumbledore , but repeatedly disputed his opinion. She might offer at least some advise, maybe even substantial assistance.

Sirius made a note to himself, while the discussion got sidetracked to the question, how to obtain better reconnaissance of Voldemort's actions. It was the usual argument, with Moody heatedly voting for more... elaborate questioning methods for death eaters caught alive and Longbottom pointing out, that there were very little of them to start with anyways... and never some big fish.

Sirius sighed and grumbled: “You know what? This is pointless. If you hear of my brother, I expect you to tell me. I'm off.” He took a walk, until Remus had used up his patience too, then returned with him to the flat.

Unmistakably the kids were in the bathroom again. It was really about time, to get them a room for themselves. For a moment, he pondered asking them, how they got along, if for their mortified looks, but then again ...By now they should have figured it out.

\----

A copy of the Daily Prophet lay in the kitchen, the sheets of paper spilled all over the table, tell-tale sign that Sirius and Remus had tried to share it, again. He needed not look to know the Quidditch results would be on the counter, nor that some of the readers' letters section would be lying crumpled up by the kettle; this drizzle of bigotry never got away undamaged.

But usually the disaster was... bigger... And he only got to clean up the remnants and get some reading himself, once Sirius was out. The Gryffindors did not actively sabotage his attempts. Only discourage. Usually. Today, Remus pulled him into the room and put the second page right into his hands.

Tristan's heart skipped a beat or three , as his knees went weak enough, he urgently reached for the next chair to sit down. Damn... Now there was no way back anymore. Abraxas dead. Lucius now Lord Malfoy. He could not have chosen a better time to disappear, as this.... this was a death warrant.

No matter, how much his father had hated him, or whatever else it had been, he had never wanted him dead, quite contrary to his brother. If he hadn't been “dead” already, he would be most certainly now. Lucius would not have waited for him to know, before springing into action.

He took his time, rereading the article twice, before looking up again, seeking Remus' eyes. “Thank you.” It came out toneless and more devastated, than he thought, it would. For some unknown reason, there was a lump in his throat and tears crept up on him, as if his old man had deserved any of that sentiment.

Forcefully he inhaled and exhaled a few times, messing up his hair in the process, clenching his jaw, pressing the lips into a thin line. Remus didn't comment just placed a mug by his hand and sat opposite to him. “Sirius is looks for a place for you.”

What was meant as distraction only served to flare up even more unwanted feelings. He didn't want to tell Remus of all people: 'I damn well told you so.' He didn't want to scream, to cry, to lose his composure, he wanted to stay his usual calm, because nothing, nothing fucking important had really happened, for Merlin's sake, had it?

Barely controlled anymore he stood up, all but snarling: “Give me a minute.”

He headed straight for the bathroom, closing the door, locking it thoroughly, before sinking back against the painted wood and slipping down to the floor. Then he cried, sobbing inaudibly, as he had learned all too well at Malfoy Manor.

Never show any weakness, when you can help it. Figured, how this had worked out for him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are... big talk with little brother... I hope, you liked, how this turned out.


	55. Nothing new under the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus deals with Tristan's emotional meltdown, while Sirius tries to move ahead plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a salad bowl, the chapter, I fear... But at least, we are going somewhere.

It was never particularly hard to break down a door, if Tris had closed it. No wards meant a single Alohomora would do the job just fine. Mostly, he didn't even bother with silencing charms. You wouldn't hear him anyways, most of the times.

That didn't mean, you should do it. Regulus at least had learned that lesson. Tris wouldn't say something, but be distant and distrustful for days. So instead he sat down in front of the door and waited, one hand placed against the surface, because it made him feel a little better.

It was a long wait, but he had expected that. He didn't mind. It made the moment, the door finially opened , only better. Then a small smile spread over his face. A stranger would not have been able to tell, but even without the bond, he knew, what Tristan needed.

Asking no questions, he stood up and pulled the little one into a hug. He would start talking by himself soon enough.

Of course, he was right. What he hadn't been prepared for, was the sniveling sound, that preluded his words. Or the soft wetness seeping into his collar. “I hated him... After all, that he did and didn't do...” A few sobs, he could not handle and would never mention again, even under thread of an unforgivable, interrupted Tris' explanation. “I still would have done almost anything to make'm proud. Just once.”

Regulus wasn't sure, he could relate. He had never felt like that about Arcturus, or gods forbid, Orion. But he had had someone in his life, someone who smiled at him, someone who cared. He stared at nothing, imagining, how life would have been with Lucius instead of Sirius for a brother, and shuddered slightly. “We are proud of you” he provided in soft but firm tone and intensified his embrace.

Tristan nodded, but didn't immediately answer, as more tears wet Regulus' shirt. When he did, at first, Regulus couldn't follow. Only slowly, he understood.

“He wasn't always like that. He used to tell me stories. Tug me into bed, when no one else would. Scream at the house elves, when they messed with my things, probably on father's orders.” He snorted, a small laughter within the sobs. Trying to collect himself, he failed once more, as another thought forced its way out. “Thing is... I can't forget that. I still love'm, still do... although he's nothing like that anymore. It still hurts.. still... I mean... I never wanted his place, never challenged him for anything, so... why?”

The last question, summing up all the pain in just one word broke the last resistance, reducing Tristan to an incoherent sobbing mess, he hadn't seen the likes of in the two years, he knew him.

Part of him, guiltily felt appalled, wanted to draw away, to leave such... indignity for someone else to handle. But that part wasn't his master anymore. Fighting it, he held his lover until the time passed, the flood ebbed. Stroked his back, whispered “I love you” and “I am here” again and again.

At last, Tristan found back to words and mind and took a little distance, looking up to him. “Sorry, that was... undignified.” He coughed and looked completely surprised by Regulus' chuckle.

“I guess, dignity is not exactly the core of us two.” It was true, and it felt strangely comfortable, although he doubted, he could let go like Tristan had.

\-----

When Sirius came back from work James accompanied him, which was right now unusual. He came in and leaned against the counter of the already crowded kitchen, watching them all in turn. Tris noticed, his eyes rested longer on Regulus, questioning, uneasy, but he didn't judge right away. Regulus was equally uneasy, knowing James too little to be sure, how this would turn out. He couldn't know, James was already informed, but kept it silent, when nobody else panicked around him.

“How long do you want to keep up all this?” James started, addressing no one in particular.

Looks were exchanged, shrugs done, Lupin as the voice of reason urged to speak first. “It's not much of a choice. They will need a place and measures to provide, but we can handle that.”

Tris smirked some, then tilted his head, adding with some amusement: “If you'd pay the rent, I could.” He didn't want to hurt James, but the little barb still hit the target. He could see it in the short tension on his face, so he stepped back: “Sorry, I didn't mean to...”

James, standing up, moving towards him, as if to hit him, shut him up quickly. But that wasn't, what he had in mind. “Sorry, I forgot. I owe you one or two.”

Tris didn't outright disagree, maybe because of the things, James didn't even know (and never should), but tried to distract him. “I know, if I reappear, questions will be asked. “ His voice trembled a little. “But if you need me... any of you. I will be there. I can handle Hunter... or even...” he made an uneasy gesture towards the windows facing north. He didn't want to expose anyone, even now, in front of Regulus.

Sirius chimed in. “That's not a solution, that's another problem. Both the old men have their own agendas and take little consideration, if they are thwarted.”

All of them, Regulus aside, agreed on that. He alone was clueless about mos of the conversation and became continuously more irked by it. “I know, you file, like you can't talk openly, but it's not like I would be running back any day soon. Or as any names would buy me mercy. I'm pretty much as fucked as any of you, if the Dark Lord gets his hands on me. Maybe more, since you would just die, while I...” he threw his head back in challenge. “ ...am a traitor and therefore subject to making an example.”

Tris knew. And maybe Sirius too. Even dark pure-blood families handled such matters painfully thorough. It was no big deal that the evil bastard would be worse. Not even Remus, not even James, with his perfect little family and history of protective parents dared challenge it.

“Fine...” he grumbled. “Plainly speaking.... you tow made quite a wave. Moody, as in the auror Alastor Moody, would forge you..” He stabbed his finger towards Regulus without actually touching. “...into his perfect spy. And I have no idea, what old Dumbledore plans for you...” He nodded at Tristan. “But for whatever reason, he wants you back at Hogwarts.”

“Not going to happen” growled Regulus, soon followed by Tristan's “Neither.”

James shrugged. “I didn't say, I agreed.”

\----

After working out some issues between them and finally, properly talking about Oxford and Avicen and Ascolip as if not a solution then at least a chance worth checking, everyone felt more confident. Well maybe not everyone.

Regulus noticed, how jittery Tris was, how little he talked anymore. He didn't like to bother someone and hated to have Regulus depend on him too. But right now, as much as Regulus hated that too, it was unlikely for him to get some proper work for money. He would perform well with investments and the likes, but you needed something to start with for that.

While he was still mulling over how to get that, Potter came around to the question, whe he had come in in the first place. “Listen...” he said. “With my birthday coming up, I really don't want to repeat last years catastrophe...”

With a cheeky grin, so very familiar, it made Regulus want to cry, Sirius interrupted: “ What? Don't tell us, it wasn't fun!” Obviously another inside joke, this time leaving Tristan in the dark too, as the present Marauders chucked.

Potter came back to the matter of question though and spelled out: “Anyways: I want to do something with Lily. I... Could you babysit Harry? Just for a day?”

Regulus was irritated, having no idea, who or what Potter was referring to, especially, when Tristan suddenly looked like a cat in the the cream. “Yes, of course. Don't listen, if they refuse. I'd like to see the little one.”

Potter looked less then enthusiastic. “You don't even know, how to change the diapers.”

Oh... a baby then. Not very responsible, getting one in the middle of a war. But then again, in his position , who was he to judge.

It didn't discourage Tristan even the slightest. “No day like today to learn something new. And besides... you should know pretty well, I have no problem to get my hands dirty.” There was only the smallest emphasis on “hands”, that made not Potter, but Lupin frown slightly. What in all wizardkinds name was going on?

Sirius seemed especially clueless but ended the unfolding discussion before it got to weird. “No problem there, James. It will be a bit... crowded, if we can't arrange things before, but Harry likes the company.”

Wonderful... a baby around the four of them. Great. There was a reason, why pure-blood families had house elves and nannies...

\----

The mediwitch at the counter was respectable and unremarkable in every single aspect. Her face, her clothes, her voice, even the movements of her hands radiated composure and respect for her noble occupation, whilst remaining utterly forgettable.

She looked politely interested, when Sirius stepped into the office of Avicen and Ascolip, as it was agreed that of all available persons he would probably cause the least suspicion, at least, until he revealed the reason for his appearance. “I need to speak to the owners” he let her know after a short exchange of polite greetings, making most of her jovial behavior disappear.

“I take it, you have an appointment?” she asked, implying very much the opposite.

“No, I...”

“Or an emergency? Something urgent?” Her look remained unchangeably neutral.

Sirius shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Her smile went into full glee. “Well then, I fear, you will either have to plan quite a lot ahead or content yourself with a consultation of one of our journeymen, Mr...”

He left the question hanging open, announcing instead: “ _I_ fear, we have a misunderstanding here. I need no consultation, but I _am_ in a bit of a hurry, though it can't reasonably be described as emergency.” He poured all his past pure-blood nobility arrogance into the sentence, knowing, he would need to hit quite the mark, as she was probably exposed to a lot of this.

He was very right. She looked him up and down and returned to studying the appointment schedule, without any intent to give further notion.

Sirius didn't let himself get baited. Putting on his very best roguish smile, he leaned over the table, gently took the book and quill from her hand, to close the former and lie down the latter. “You should really tell them. It would be unfortunate, if they found out, I am here about the Slughorn matter and you sent me away.” With that, flashing just one more of his signature gazes, he turned around and sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area. “I will be here for half an hour. Shush.”

Not ten minutes later an elderly woman appeared, aiming to very politely verify his claim. “I must admit” she offered “Mr. Ascolip was quite devastated when he heard of the... disappearance... so to say.”

That definitely woke Sirius suspicion. “Disappearance?” If they already knew of that, their source was most certainly not the Daily Prophet. The newspaper had been allowed to report on two Hogwarts students going missing, but had been forbidden to announce their names or any identifying information.

“If you didn't know, this is probably no longer relevant...” the woman provided, clearly smug.

But Sirius wouldn't be so easily unsettled. Pure-blood interaction was all about showing of superior knowledge , manners and lack of care for the less fortunate. And he could provide with all three of that. He just shrugged very slightly . “It is, if you are not one of the owners or bring him in the next ten minutes. And provide a halfway decent privacy ward.”

That finally got him a reaction that was helpful. An ancient wizard with watery blue eyes and an air of importance stepped out from his hiding place. Sirius furrowed his brow. It had been a long time, but...

“I see, you remember me. And what an impressive young man you've grown into, since your last check, Mr. Black.”


	56. Chains of affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with the healer Mr. Ascolip unfolds and yields results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow there will be no update, as my writer's block, lack of laptop and workload have finally caught up with my pre-written stuff. I will try to manage tuesday, but the time of daily updates is over for now. I still hope, you do keep me in mind and check from time to time.

Tristan's stomach fluttered wildly, though he was able to keep a straight face. Still, without Regulus at his side, he would probably have called it off. It was incredibly dangerous to meet in public, but all together, they had decided the didn't want the healers to know, where they resided. The easiest way around that, was this: Muggle environment, wards, glamours and disilluision charms.

It was still a risky move that relied solely on Ascolip's promise to keep confidence. They wouldn't even have thought about accepting it, had confidence not been such an important part of both the healer's philosophy in general and their business' success in particular.

But now... all the doubts , Tristan had in the first place, starting with that strangely hungry look were back. What had they found? What did they want? What would they say?

As his breath sped up, he squeezed Regulus' hand and got a squeeze back, reassuring him, Regulus was there and would help. There was no time for more, as an old man, he found vaguely familiar, stepped into the room of the modest dining place, followed by a pretty tense Sirius, who seemed to scowl at the whole room at once. After another check, if everything was fine, he ushered him towards their table only sitting done, once he checked their charms again.

The old man took no precautions to conceal his curious looks towards the both of them. “Mr. Malfoy, I take it?”

Tristan nodded reluctantly, deciding, it wouldn't give the healer any leverage or solid proof. “Yeah, that's me.” He tried to sound as little the posh upbringing, he had had, as possible, but it sounded forced even to him. “You let me know, you wanted to talk with me. So here I am. Listening.”

Goosebumps crept up his back and he had to fight the urge to seek the comfort of Regulus' hand again. It was unwise , though. It wouldn't go unnoticed.

“Very well then. My name is Hermes Ascolip. I assume, you don't remember me, but I remember you. Sadly, when I saw you as a boy, I didn't give you my proper attention.” It was creepy, how the old man watched him up and down meticulously as if to mend said mistake.

Tristan leaned back for maximum distance and without so much as a wink, Regulus took the hint and moved, too, partly obscuring him. Meanwhile Sirius drew closer, not yet threatening but very distrustful. “What, if you had?” the younger Black gritted out, barely concealing his bad mood.

Ascolip carried the hint of a smile , as he answered: “All this wouldn't be necessary. I would have found... it, and offered in the first place. And I am most sure, your father would have been... delighted.”

Tristan gritted his teeth, unable to unravel the tight knot in his stomach, but Sirius shared some experience with him and knew of others, so he all but growled: "You are not exactly advertising here, are you?”

The healer seemed quite unfazed. “Merely stating the truth, Mr. Black. Though I am somewhat puzzled by your role in this.”

Sirius smirked, showing off his pure-blood arrogance with just the smallest hint of possible violence. “I was asked to act as a guardian, since the potential apprentice is not yet of age.” He got a little closer, as if to dare Ascolip to challenge that claim.

And he did: “I was unaware, your families were so close.”

Before Sirius could answer, Tristan took the lead again. “Not my family. _I_ asked him. I deny my family's claim over my fate.” It was the last of a long line of steps to emancipate himself and it felt like being stabbed with a red-hot knife.

Involuntarily he bend over, only just managing not to cry again. Regulus saw his struggle and now fully shielded him to spare him the humiliation. To further distract Ascolip, he said thin-lipped: "You are exceptionally vague, on the matter at hand. Maybe you should start with explaining “It”.”

And Aslcolip was not the only one who was suddenly very focused. This was right now, the biggest question mark around. The healer didn't go down without a fight though. He eyed Regulus doubtfully and bit out: “I hardly see, how you have any say in this discussion. Unless...” he halted, thoughtfully tilting his head. “Unless you are one of the bonded. May I ask your name?”

One of the bonded? As in... plural? And how did he know? It had happened after the checkup, of that Tristan was sure.

Regulus growled “You may not! You may however stop dodging the major questions and start explaining. Our patience is limited.” The fact, that his voice never rose above conversational volume made it no less alerting.

Tristan touched his thigh to hold him back. “It's ok, let me deal with it.” He spoke very softly and was still sure, Ascolip heard every single word. Smug bastard. Aloud, he continued: “I am asking. What. Is. It?”

“You don't know?" Another beating around the bush. “Besides... I don't even have hard proof, you are, who you claim to be.” He knew. Tristan was sure. He just baited. So then. Time to play.

“For someone, wanting something from me, you are quite demanding. But look... Either I am. In that case you can tell me and we'll be over with it, before one of my associates loses his temper. Or I am not, in which case perhaps the rumors are true and he is dead, meaning, it wouldn't matter any more anyways.”

At last Ascolip's amused self control slipped. He studied Tristan's face intensely now, then nodded. “You are right, I suppose. But do you trust these gentlemen?”

“More than you” Tristan snapped, moving forward, not caring that he brushed by Regulus' still protectively close body. “Tell me. Or leave now. Your call.” Jaw set, eyes now clear, emotions controlled, he watched the old man with determination.

“Well then. As you know, your use of magic in general is restricted.” Ascolip waited for a reaction and received none but an impatient look. “Your grasp of healing magic on the other hand... you are... unique. And made even more unique by the fact that wizards like you rarely survive childhood in our less then peaceful world. They lack... defenses.”

Very slowly, deliberately exaggerating, Tristan folded his arms, until he had unnerved Ascolip just enough.

“Under the right tutelage you may perform exceptional deeds. And we want that. We want to be able to provide it for our clients in otherwise hopeless cases.”

He had kind of seen that coming. Not the childhood part. But once it was out, it was obvious. What else would they want? What else would have interested them? But the healer wasn't done.

“You are right now... in a dangerous position. You are damaging yourself. If for no other reason than to save you for whatever fate the magic made you for... you must be educated.”

“Which, what happy little accident, you can provide...” Tristan said, dripping with sarcasm.

The old healer had the decency not to look smug. “We may.”

With that, taking their time and drinking a lot of mugglemade tea and coffee, tough negotiations began. Both Regulus and Sirius , if for different reasons, were hell-bent on making the best deal of it and so, one after the other, all the difficult topics were dissected. Confidence and the need for anonymity of course. Safety issues. Outside commitments. Time, money, what was expected of him, during and after the apprenticeship.

No final argeement was reached, but a general consent to continue later, more than enough of a proof, how very interested they were in him, leaving him with leverage for one more thing. “You spoke of the bonded... How could you tell?”

Ascolip eyed him, as if he was stupid. “The analysis...”

“...was...” before. The had been bonded before. This was, why the bond didn't work as expected. Something had happened. Something went wrong. “Oh...” Ascolip looked both shocked and strangely curious. “You didn't realize... We will need to reassess then. Two bonds, back then. Hopefully not more now.” The healer looked almost overly worried now. “Something... you do, forms bonds, that won't be broken. Rarely, but still too frequent for your safety.”

Tristan knew. The moment, his eyes found Regulus, he knew. It had been a mistake. All this time, he had been right. He had damned them both. “I'm sorry. I didn't... want to force you.” Hopefully too soft for the healer to catch it.

Regulus smiled, his fingertips brushing Tristan's hand. “You didn't. I loved you before that.” But.. that couldn't be right. Tristan only ever told Regulus of _his_ love by the end of summer, after the injury and the lifestealer curse. And even then... How could...

Regulus smile went softer even, his eyes never leaving him. “Yes. Even before that.”

It took everything of him to stay in his chair. To even out his breath. To seem composed. Just a nod, just turning back to Ascolip, just giving a proper fare well , was easier thought than done. “We will discuss your offer, and get back to you. Have a nice day” he pressed out breathlessly.

Then they all rose , bowing slightly, in Sirius case just dipping his head, and the old man left.

Sirius watched them, very intently and sighed. “We will need about ten minutes back to the flat. I guess you can patch a proper explanation together by then.” He couldn't.

\----

They had discussed the pros and cons all evening. Sirius was cautious but believed in the healer's proposal, not on the base of their reputation, but on the greed he had seen in them. Regulus basically agreed, but felt less secure, this was any good for Tristan. He had done his best, and still seemed shaken. There was no saying, what buried trauma they would pull into the light of their attention, if there was no one around to stop them.

Remus on the other hand had strong reservations. He knew the healers only by name, but their customers were less than reassuring. Sending a child in there, especially without decent backup , was out of question for him.

Regulus would have guessed, this alone would anger Tristan enough to make him vote strongly for the plan. Instead he remained almost passive and rarely spoke at all. Regulus nudged him slightly, whispering into his ear (and counting on the others for discreet disregard): “Are you alright?”

The smaller boy, as always sitting next to him, nodded, then stood up. “Sorry, I need some fresh air.” His eyes wandered over each of them, as if he needed to decide, who was allowed to join him. Going alone was unfortunately no option right now. To everyone's surprise, he asked: “Padfoot? Care to come?” Regulus would have been the obvious choice, and he usually preferred Remus' calm over Sirius' flamboyance. But no one saw a reason not to grant him his wishes, so off they went, leaving Regulus and Remus to another round of finding out, how to interact.

\----

_Dear Lily,_

_I have pondered about the conversation we had on New Year's Eve for a long time. I even talked to Sirius due to his greater experience both as an auror and member of a dark family, whilst keeping your involvement in the plan secret. Before I begin to explain the results of my considerations, please note that I didn't ask him frivolously, as it could have cost me both my shelter here and his friendship (it did not)._

_First of all, I did find something, that might serve Harry, if ever needed, even under the worst possible circumstances and for prolonged periods, in case of continued danger. But – and this is a very big but – it is only a very last resort. I can and, if you decide so, will prepare it for you, in hope you might never need it. The reason for my hesitation is the nature of the final trigger. A sacrifice, and I mean an ultimate one, is to be made, preferably, but not necessarily, willingly._

_As you know, I would never consciously harm someone, so it's either you or me, who will have to die, should Harry ever be in a life-threatening situation. And in case, you (understandably) chose yourself, I am almost sure, James will kill me, for there will be my magical fingerprints all over this._

_Be assured, both Sirius and I checked thoroughly and are certain, it does neither taint the soul nor damage the recipient, at least not in the variant I can perform for you. Chose wisely, I am waiting for your answer. And please: don't hesitate because of me. You know, what I have done for him. I would do it all over again and more._

_Tris_

It was a plain parchment and the plainest hand, he could manage, and still, the letter seemed to burn under his fingers. Up to this point, he had not been sure. But now... the healer had told him of two bonds. One of them was most certainly Regulus. So, if his assumption that Dark Rites did this to him, was correct, the second had to be Harry. There was no way, he would let the baby come to harm, after what he did to him, even under the premise of best intentions. He could only hope, that the birth had not created a third bond with Lily, or if it had, that the death of either of them didn't pull the other apart.

And thereafter, no matter, what Remus or the brothers Black thought, he would go to Ascolip. He could not let it happen again, at which price ever necessary. If it woke his nightmares anew or killed him, or cost him his freedom, it wouldn't be too much to pay.


	57. Fall deep or soar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Tristan get used to having to care for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to adjust to schedule to post every second day, if my writer's block isn't persistent. For now, only the very next update is safe.   
> Today has an explicit part, if you don't want to read that, avoid the area within the two ++

It was easy enough to procure a small flat in Oxford, where a small wizarding community blended into the academic environment, even more so, when they could count on the healer's business to order around some people, after they reached a final agreement and signed a binding magical contract. It was less simple to bring the magical and mundane security to acceptable levels, especially when most of the “usual” wards of old were either illegal, impractical or simply not reproduceable with their measures and both Regulus and Tristan refused to use truly “dark” wards.

  


Only bending the rules here and there did a decent job for them. They installed privacy wards that wouldn't allow to trace underage magic, so Tristan could work in their appartment and they ignored the usual rules for ministrial backdoors, the aurors used these days, for, as Sirius put it: “You have your personal aurors already around. James and I will come by frequently.”

  


On Tristan's insistence they keyed Remus, Lily and Harry into the wards too, for “one never knows” and he certainly hoped, they would come by, so was allowed to see the kid. Regulus was still less than happy but didn't object. He had some suspicions about it, by now.

  


Once they were actually truly alone, the used furniture, Sirius had obtained from somewhere, transfigured into something borderline acceptable, for the first time in weeks, they had time. And for the first time, since the tentative first days of their love, they had a place to stay together.

  


Regulus intended to make good use of it, pulling Tristan closer, the moment, Sirius left and the door closed. “Hey, you...”

  


The smaller well.... not-quite—boy-anymore looked up to him, before rubbing his face against Regulus' like an affectionate kitten. “Hey...”

  


Regulus' eyes wandered appraisingly over Tristan's body. “We should talk...” he announced without even the slightest intent to follow through.

  


“Later...” was the curt answer. Tristan had better things to do. Like finding out, how to remove their newly bought muggle clothing effectively. Or to check, if Regulus ' skin still smelled and tasted the same. It would have been so rude to object, Regulus decided. They would have a few days to get settled. Time enough for a talk or two.

++

For now, he could not care less. He bowed down, picking up Tristan's task to feel and smell and taste skin. While his lover sampled his chest, planting small kisses and licks all over it, his higher position allowed him to nibble at the sensitive back of the neck, winding Tris up, until he could no longer concentrate , solely leaning against him, breath trembling, eyes closed in pleasure.

  


Regulus loved these moments, when he could make him forget about everything, even reciprocity, when the little one felt all loved and cherished beyond the need to do something for it. To earn it.

  


Drawing the moment out just a little longer, he kept snuggling the sensitized skin, mouthing “I love you” into it, with his hands following the spine up and down. Mostly down, to be honest.

  


Caressing this slender, but well-muscled back was a rare treat, as they couldn't spare the time to fully undress, usually. And arriving on firm buttocks, squeezing gently, pulling Tris closer.... it wasn't even the arousal, rushing through him, that made it so perfect. It was the intimacy, the complete trust, the knowledge of each other's bodies, stolen in forbidden moments, when he still didn't believe, he was allowed to feel that way or deserved anything like it, or rushedly gained under constant danger of discovery.

  


Knowing, how exactly his knee fitted between Tris' thighs. How their bodies slotted together, trapping their pricks in almost unabearably pleasurable friction. Knowing, how his lover would run his fingers up his arms and shoulders to pull him down into the dirtiest, most sinful of kisses.

  


Regulus groaned into this perfect kiss, grinding his hips against Tristan's, finding a rhythm of meeting and parting. The intensity of sensations barely left them enough air to breathe, let alone kiss, but they tried anyways, panting and moaning and holding unto each other, until they were so tangled into the other's body, it was hard to tell, which part of skin belonged to whom.

  


And then Tris reached down, touching... Maybe they would actually make it into bed next time. Or not. As long as his lover grinned like that, it really didn't matter.

++

\-----

  


Settling everything was not the simple task, one would have had imagined, as they had to think about so many details. First and foremost safety was still an issue, touching a range of issues beside the wards. The realization that it was probably wiser to buy their stuff at muggle stores to avoid the local wizards, complicated by the fact that neither of them could cook, even less so on a muggle stove.

  


That they would need a routine to alter their looks, that could not fail after a single “finite”.

  


“Maybe you should grow a beard” Regulus suggested jokingly, knowing full well, how little Tristan still had to shave at sixteen. The younger boy grinned doubtfully, but countered with an unexpected quip: “Salazar, no, Malfoys look awful with a stubble...But you may try...”

  


Regulus laughed and answered: “If you wanted Sirius instead of me, you should have said so.” It was another joke, and he desperately hoped, Tristan wouldn't notice, how dangerously close to the truth it went. Jealousy had never played a role between them before, it shouldn't now.

  


And neither should optics, but they did. While Tristan was willing to cut the soft strands that caressed his face so favorably, Regulus refused. It would have taken away the innocence he so cherished and there had to be other ways. Changing the color to a deep dark reddish black, donning muggle clothes not exactly the right size to conceal both the shape of his body and the wizard upbringing worked well enough. Applying shadows on the face to change the overall impression and add a protected glamour didn't hurt either.

  


Regulus case was simpler, he wouldn't go out much anyways and very few people knew, what he locked like. None of those would expect to meet him in these surroundings, where Orion or Arcturus wouldn't want to be found dead, even less so alive. Hair in a dark blonde, some stubble, perfectly fitting muggle clothes, adequate for a university student his age... not even the closest equivalent he had to friends would _dare_ to acknowledge him like that.

  


Another matter was transport. Tristan couldn't apparate, both due to age and ability restrictions. He couldn't rely on Regulus all the time either. So they had to work out, how to use muggle transportation. At least, it was not that far. Only two stations by bus, and the mechanics were similar enough to the night bus, he wouldn't disgrace himself by ignorance. He then would enter the wizard shop via backdoor, from where on it would be on Avicen and Ascolip to care for bot his safety and hide his identity. Of course, they didn't elaborate on their measures, but with a business that old and ruthless, he was certainly safer there than in the flat.

  


Last but not least, there was the issue of neighbors. Neither Regulus nor Tristan ever had those before, both were used to spacey housing. And the dorms at Hogwarts albeit prone to rumor and sometimes hostility, wer no comparison to the constant attention, they would have to expect here, with all the suspicions they probably raised.

  


It wasn't the living together. Rooming together was, as far as Remus told them, common for “university students'. But they looked very young and very inexperienced, too posh for the area, too. They had odd habits and strange visitors. And they were in love.

  


According to Remus' (and Lily's) grave warnings, this was problematic. What was merely shrugged at in the wizarding society, especially when the parties involved cared for their duties and remained discreet, could escalate into open hostility or even violence among muggles.

  


This called for desperate measures. They charmed all the windows to show absolutely nothing, but people eating or sleeping. It was a simple enough illusion, working with what people expected. They silenced every room. They installed a few nasty surprises both wizarding and muggle-wise. And they installed a sophisticated intruder ward that would incapacitate anyone not keyed in our explicitly invited. With all this in place and plenty of time to spare, they eventually couldn't avoid talking anymore...

  


\----

  


“Who goes first?” Tristan seemed less than eager, but asked anyways. The day after tomorrow he would start as an apprentice and he needed to have everything sorted out between him and Regulus by then. Maybe it needed to be him to start. He had always braced the difficult topics, never flinched back even when he was almost petrified by the thought, what was at stake. “You know what? I do it.”

  


He exhaled and started by asking: “I have like... three things, you might want to ask about. The cave, the bond or the order. What will it be?”

  


Regulus smiled at him, deciding: “Lets get the order thing out of the way. How long?”

  


Tristan's relaxed answer “First summer? Second Christmas? I don't really know anymore...” left him speechless. The younger wizard laughed it off and continued: “Out in the field, a year, I guess. You knew. Most of it. Only not where, with whom, against whom.” Slowly the proud smile dissipated and was replaced by a thoughtful look. “I didn't want to frighten you.”

  


Regulus had a hard time not answering with biting sarcasm, but managed to ask almost deadpanning: “What about the sleep? After...”

  


“Oh... topic number four...” Tristan grinned and told him about the rites. About their use for the order, about Harry and Lily. In the end, he also told him about the cave, he left out lots of details, avoiding to sound bragging or seeking pity (or worse: retribution). He couldn't, however, suppress the fear that still made him shiver or the despair, when he thought all was lost. Mid-story Regulus grabbed his hand and squeezed it, never moving away, never stopping, even when Tris broke in cold sweat on the memory of Regulus' cold, absent behavior and the doubts, he would ever get him back, the fear it had all been for naught. After revealing the rites, Regulus now understood, why he slept for days after the rescue, why he felt so weak. Even, why a new scar marred his arm.

  


Then it was over. Regulus now knew, it was his turn to answer in kind. He did so with a look of utter hopelessness. “Once I tell you, you will regret saving me. I didn't deserve it. Don't deserve you. And... if you decide, you don't want me anymore...when you know... It will be fine. I'll...” he couldn't spell it out and Tristan didn't force him.

  


“I won't” he simply stated, holding Regulus just the same way, the younger Black often held him, sitting behind him, hands warm on shoulder and chest. “Nothing you tell me can change who you are or that I love you. And... I could live with not knowing, but I think, you need it. Need me to know.”

  


Regulus nodded, resolved, and began slowly, hesitating, stumbling over the words. Even crying. Making no excuses, sparing himself no detail. He expected to be damned. Even wanted to.

  


Tris never wavered. He held him through it kept him close. And when Regulus ended, he placed his head on the shoulder before him, taking a few slow breaths, cheek on cheek, until his lover relaxed. “Thank you.” He sneaked his hand into Regulus'. “If you want my forgiveness, you can have it any time. But it is you, who needs to forgive yourself.”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think, this talk was long overdue and will have some lasting effect. How did you like it?


	58. Measuring distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of Tristan's apprenticeship bring new challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope, I will be able to post again on Saturday. No promises though. Still kind of stuck... Before you ask: it's not a lack of ideas, I know, where I am going with you, by now, I even figured out, where to end... But I messed up the timing and need to figure out, how it will work best. Always the tricky part, once I reach this stage... Kick me a bit, that usually helps.

He hadn't known, what to expect. But this was not it. “Do sit down, Mr. Malfoy. Congratulations are in order, I presume. Coming back from death seems quite the achievement.” The old man, who on their first discussion clearly hadn't bothered with glamours, pointed at a luxurious armchair in a cozy corner of the old-fashioned office decorated in dark wood and dark leather, no table between them, not even sufficient space.

Tristan complied reluctantly. “I'd like to think of it more in terms of a rebirth...” His voice was clear, without trembling, if low.

The healer smirked, then changed topic. “You might not understand, how exceptional the circumstances are.” He summoned himself a cup and filled it from a bottle sending a sharp and tangy scent into the room. “I retired from giving consultations and I never took an apprentice before.”

Tristan shrugged. He refused to be impressed, when obviously he was the reason for them to bend their rules. “I'd rather skip the great introductory speech.” It was hard enough to keep trances of fear out of his expression without getting bored to death on top, with things he would understand soon enough, anyways. “You may be aware, I failed to be the meek and obedient son, I won't start as an apprentice.”

The smirk widened into a full grin, as the healer drew closer, staying at the very edge of his seat. “You defy any expectancies, be it as pure-blood, healer or apprentice, I see. Very well. I value honesty over politeness.”

'Please don't touch me, please don't touch me' Tristan thought, but refused to retreat or flinch. “I didn't mean to be impolite. Forgive me, if I insulted you.” It was odd, how the conversation seemed less and less connected to what was going on.

Slowly, deliberately, the healer's hands sank down to his. “Don't apologize. Just...” his fingers touched Tristan's skin, sending a small jolt along his arm, some kind of magic the young wizard couldn't quite place. “Listen.”

Tristan gasped, unable to answer, as the magic raced over him, covering each square-inch of skin, than diving in, covering bones and organs.

The healer sucked in air, making an annoyed sound. “So much injury, so little consideration for something so precious...” Ignoring Tristan's irritation his fingertips left the hand and reached for the face, sliding along the cheekbone. “You will refer to me as Master Hermes or sir. You will follow my orders without question, when I give them, but are allowed to ask everything you can think of otherwise.” The voice had changed from the high amicable tone of old age to the rational and cool voice of a teacher. “You will assist with our work in the mornings and I will instruct you in the afternoon.”

Tristan could work with that, it was much safer ground. “As you wish, sir” he confirmed. “How will I start today?”

The old man studied him in silence, fiddling with his wand. “Today I will show you all necessary means, introduce you to my partner, our journeymen, mediwitches and wizards and run a second analysis on your core.” Only then he retracted his hand and with it the magic spark, Tristan almost forgot over the rest of his impressions. “Impressive, very impressive indeed. I begin to understand, how you were able to survive where so many others wouldn't.”

Now, Tristan did flinch. “What? I don't understand.”

The healer carefully sat back, giving him space. “Such strength, such determination, such... compassion. A healer can both have too little and to much love for his patients, you definitely never erred to the former.”

It still left Tristan clueless, what he was aiming at, but he didn't repeat the question, only stared, however undignified that was.

“My young apprentice, before I can teach you anything about the more delicate aspects of healing magic, you will learn about professional distance. About taking care of yourself. About personal safety. We won't let you come to harm again, if we can help it. We can however not _easily_ sever the bonds. Even, if we believed, it would help.”

Now the expression of confusion was replaced by horror. “Leave them! They... mean something to me.”

The old man nodded. “I thought so. Be sure to follow my lead, and we will never have to discuss the possibility.”

Oh great. Blackmail. Within the first hour.

“This is not about my wishes, Mr. Malfoy. This is about keeping you safe. You will understand. Soon.”

\----

Every day for the past weeks, Tristan had come home, drained of most of his energy, as Regulus noticed with rising concern. Even on Saturdays the wretched old man had called him in, leaving only Sundays truly for them. And still, after all these days, Tris made a point of eating together, of sharing at least a little time each day. Whenever he came home, a smile spilled over his face, when he received his first kiss or hug.

No matter how tired, Regulus remained his fix point and comfort.

And on Sundays... they slept in, cuddled, did all the embarrassing things, they hadn't dared when Sirius and Remus were around. It was glorious. The small payment for a week of boredom, feeling useless. He found, he had so little to give, so little to do, so much to think of.

Out of pure desperation Regulus had started to watch the neighbors, their doings, their coming and going. But the longer he did, the more he realized, despite being so careful, Tristan and him were far from liked. For once, they were a little odd in they eyes of muggles. Nothing obvious, no, but too different to fit in perfectly. And then... strange occurrences tended to happen around them, similar to the wild magic of kids. This thing called electricy or something and the tivi, whatever that was, did strange things in all flats adjacent to theirs. The owls, they rarely received, were spotted, and their awkward reaction to the muggle approach on small talk in the corridors did nothing to dispel suspicions.

It became painfully obvious that they could not stay for long without making some major changes, and even then, their next place would need to be much more private. Regulus decided to talk about it with the visitors they would have this Sunday, a test run for Potter's birthday, with Sirius and Remus bringing along the baby “Harry”. Maybe Evans and Potter himself would join too, having a look at their new flat.

\----

Even when they started on the wrong foot, he could certainly see the point of what “Master Hermes” tried to teach him. The constant reminders to keep his glamours in place were part of it (and the easiest part), but they indicated the healer took his promise to keep Tristan's safety in mind very serious. Also... he reminded him oddly of Moody's “constant vigilance” rants... it was almost funny.

The harder part was distance. Curse scars cramped his guts in memory of his own past, the echoes of pain and terror throwing him back to places, he had not wanted to be even the first time around. Broken bones, open wounds, he had had them all and could relate all too much. Illnesses were easier to detach himself from, he had been sick only once and remembered nearly nothing of it.

But kids... it never went well with kids. Even, when it was just a checkup, even, when they bore no signs of past injury. Just a hint of force, of overwhelming expectations, merciless rules, and Tristan was torn between impotent rage, incapacitating flashes of fear and depression-level sorrow. He saw it. All the little sights, the flinching, the odd looks, the overly prompt obedience. And he could do nothing. Worse even, he was explicitly forbidden to say even a single word. And he hated very single moment of that. Fortunately his teacher exposed him to that only in small doses and let him have some silent work with potions or books afterwards. It was desperately needed.

Strange enough, how Master Hermes knew, how far he could push him, without setting him off like a malfunctioning ward. And even stranger, he knew, how to calm him down, give his thoughts a new direction, occupy him. Despite the daily battle with the old man and his expectations, there were moments of actual comfort, unguarded emotion, even thoughts, lilttle secrets he held dear and could not believe, he was sharing so carelessly.

“There will be a change of sorts today. You will be staying in the back for a while” Master Hermes announced.

Tristan looked pensieve but felt safe enough to ask. Maybe it was expected even. “Why?”

“Walburga Black has fallen ill. Judging by your acquaintance with her son...”

Tristan shrugged. “She doesn't know me. I'm only friends with her sons...” Dammit... Plural.

And of-fucking-course Master Hermes noticed. “Oh... I see.” He sat down in a chair not too far from the desk, where Tristan studied an ancient book with utmost care and leaned back. “We need to know about your personal ties anyways. In case, they interfere with your duties here.”

Tristan growled discontently “it's not an issue” without looking up, trying to concentrate o the spellwork of a complicated replenishing spell.

“It's not an issue?” Master Hermes echoed amusedly disbelieving. “You can barely contain yourself most days around strangers, but it's not an issue?”

At last, Tristan looked up and met his eyes. “I healed people close to me, like... from the start. Even in mortal peril. James, Remus, Sirius... Regulus...” Especially Regulus. And again, he had revealed too much. At least, he had stopped before mentioning Lily and Harry. Not that it was likely, Master Hermes knew about them. The Potters were not really his usual kind of clients.

The old healer watched with unusual curiosity. “First name base with both Blacks, hm? Quite remarkable, if their mother is to be trusted on their disagreements...” He looked all too smug and satisfied.

“Regulus is dead!” Tristan exclaimed with too much anger and too little grief, causing Master Hermes to chuckle.

“As are you, or so I heard.” Right. Stupid to mention it.

“He really is.” Tristan made his voice waver, more out of annoyance than even pretended sorrow, but it might still sound convincing to the unfamiliar ear.

“He is your bonded.” The old man had not even the decency to put it up as a question. “I wonder, how that happened.” And then, before Tristan could even raise to the bait: “I know. It's none of my business.” That in a tone, implying not defeat but: 'you will tell me later.'

Tristan sighed exasperatedly. “Sir, sometimes I fear, you are making fun of me.”

Abruptly the old man changed topic. “you said, you healed them. How? I know, you can't when you are stressed out.”

The winded road of his thoughts never failed to astonish Tristan. “I...” dissociate... Temporarily. That was, where he was leading him. Do the job first, deal with feelings later... He nodded. “I understand.”

But Master Hermes would never leave him in certainty. “Do you, now...?” Course not. Bastard.

\----

Regulus really tried to be annoyed. There were after all lots of reasons to be. Their living room room was crowded. Crowded with people, he didn't even like, mostly, because he barely knew them. Sirius and by extent Lupin were fine, of course, but Potter and Evans... and the... toddler, they brought. That was way too much, small wonder, they didn't bring that rat as well.

But then again... Tris looked so happy, tickling the little boy on his knees, basking in the pearly laughter of the child, listening to all those stories about this or that incident, of people Regulus only knew by name or reputation but he seemed close to. There was a whole life, Regulus didn't know about. A whole lot of things, he never realized. How deep his lover's connection with the marauders went, how much he was invested in this anti-Dark-Lord-thing. How well he got along with the child. Yes, it came always back to the child. Or maybe any child. Now, that he thought of it, putting things into a new perspective, Tristan had always been good with children and happy about it. The infirmary of Hogwarts stood proof to that.

Regulus felt a guilty stab. Some time in the future, Tristan would have been a good parent one day in the far future, when he was old enough. Better than their parents most certainly, better than Regulus too. Small chance of that anymore, now that he was in hiding and any appropriate wife was out of reach. And that didn't even start on the topic of family duties. Their death was after all more inconvenient than he had thought off, depending on how long it lasted. Of course, this was nothing of any urgency. It still hurt to understand, just how much he had cost the little one already and would possibly, in the future.

It was humbling, as it was frustrating and all he could do, was deal with it and hope. Making himself useful, if he could, so that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it, in the end.

Just then, a high-pitched happy shriek startled him out of his thoughts, as little Harry waddled from chair to chair, collecting small proofs of affection from every adult present, until he ended up standing in front of an abashed and clueless Regulus, grinning widely and chattering in a barely understandable lingo: “Huni?” he mumbled again and again, increasingly urgent, until Evans interrupted. “No, sweetheart, no sugar for you anymore, you had enough honey for one day.” Then, with an apologetic look to Regulus she collected her little spawn and explained: “He'd make a massacre of your living room, if you gave him any.”

No one would deny that. It wasn't so far from one even without honey. And that made Regulus suddenly incredibly proud. It meant, it had not been before. The two of them were capable to handle themselves, without someone more adult, telling them what to do. And everyone could see it. Well... everyone who mattered.

He relaxed into the thought, when suddenly the doorbell rang, meaning, it was one of those muggles again. Proper wizards knocked. He sighed, looked around and got up, preparing himself for another round of complaints about how the “telli” never worked right, since they moved here, so it must have been their fault. Sometimes he wished, a few hexes wouldn't blow their cover.


	59. The alliance of imperfections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus finds a new occupation, Tristan new knowledge he might not know, how to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea, when the next update will be, I have literally nothing pre-written, and that with some major plot developement ahead... I am really annoyed of my muse, not letting me figure out, how to get there...

The yelling from the front door, albeit kind of distracting caused more than one of them to smirk, with James pointing out: “I am actually impressed, Pads. If it was you, not your brother, you'd already exploded.” Tristan tended to agree and got up. “I should go, help him.”

But before he could, Lily asked: “What is this about anyways? I thought, you were rather silent to be around?”

Tristan shrugged. “It's not about the noise. We have all rooms silenced and the windows enchanted. This is about their... “telli”?”

Lily broke into laughter. “The telli? Figures. You have wards put up, have you?”

On that, Tristan gave her a dirty look. “We are not that stupid. But all of you are keyed, just in case...”

It made her laugh only harder, to the point, that she had to fight for air to tell him: “You know that muggle technology goes haywire around wards, don't you?” The shocked faces around the room assured him that at least, he wasn't the only one clueless. Remus at least had an idea, as he cursed under his breath that he should have told them. But he had not been present, when they put up the wards...

“I better go and help Regulus” Sirius now offered, more than a little abashed.

\---

“Concentrate.”

Tristan breathed slowly, as he had been told to, feeling Master Hermes watching his every move, albeit he kept his eyes closed.

“you understand the difference between pain and damage. You have been made aware of dissociation. Combining both to mastery opens the door to remaining capable of acting, even under the most extreme circumstances, which in turn is the first step...” The elderly healer did not explain to what, and Tristan didn't ask. He was... preoccupied. He knew, what was coming. He feared it, dreaded it, yet knew, he had to let go of that fear, if he ever wanted to get better at this. He could not change it, hide from it, seek help against it.

All he could do, was master it, ride it, understand, it was nothing but an illusion. Or suffer the consequences.

“Are you ready, child?”

He wasn't. Never would be, at least not today. He had felt it before. He had screamed, he had cried, he had begged for mercy and promised to be good, the memories of that rather blurry from the distance of his almost adult self. It had never helped, never spared him any.

A hand landed on his shoulder, so light, so soft, barely there. “You are stronger, than you think.” Beside the hand, at the lowest point of his neck, he could feel the tip of a wand, lingering just barely noticeable. “Are you ready, child?”

Another breath, then he nodded. Wand and hand disappeared, making him wonder, if he had been spared. “I am proud of you.” A smell of sandalwood, soothing and warm hung in the air, helping him to concentrate now. In and out, breathing. Never to break focus. “Crucio.”

He fell and it ended. “You are getting better at this. You will master it soon enough.” Strange, how he tried to hold on, when letting go ended the suffering.

\---

Regulus was somewhat relieved, when Sirius sent him an owl to check if everything was alright. On principle he found it rather annoying, since they were really old enough to care for themselves and didn't need someone theoretically more “adult” looking after them. Even now, they acted certainly more responsible than Sirius ever had, war had made them very, very cautious.

But in particular, it gave him the opportunity to send said owl back with some requests. For once, he really wanted their trunks from Hogwarts send over. Sooner or later, they would be given to “the family” and nobody could want that. Here, it would provide them with some decent stuff, even some good books, for both he and Tristan kept a personal stock.

And then... maybe even more books, preferably on the topic of wards and magical safety. Something to occupy himself with, something to learn, maybe even something to solve the problem with this... telli.

Once he send the owl, though, he couldn't have guessed the reaction that followed. It was as if a dam had broken. As if Sirius had only waited for him to show interest in something. Anything. He came over, providing him with some books of his own and promising to bring more. And getting him in contact with someone. He remained somewhat reluctant, since he was still wary, that auror, Alastor Moody might get carried away, but considered “controlled interaction” possible. Moody was an expert on wards and traps after all, or he wouldn't have lived to tell the tale.

“Don't answer questions, though” Sirius warned. “No matter, what he asks. Don't even get him started.”

\---

“Are you fucking serious?” Moody watched him up and down, giving him ample opportunity to chime in with a stupid joke, he might have taken under different circumstances. “You knew, all the time, and didn't say a single word?”

If Moody only knew. He had been keeping secrets all his life, and very few of them were so pleasant as this one. He shrugged, somewhat helplessly. “I won't tell you, where he is. Where they are. But... I can put you in touch. Serpent can come, too. If it's bad. He has... work now, he won't come, if it is not important.”

The older auror and his teacher drank from his flask, one gulp, than another. “I smell conditions.”

Sirius' mischievous smile was now present, as he furrowed just one brow. “Maybe...” He nodded with determination. “Serpent... stays dead. We need to protect his identity. You know... his brother.”

Moody understood without much of a fuzz. “So... polyjuice?” he mused, but shook his head discontently. “No... restricted contact. You, me, as few else as possible. Oblivation, if necessary.”

To that, Sirius nodded and repeated, emphasizing: “Only, when it's important.”

“Contact?” Alastor growled, but seemed not really angry, already pondering the possibilities. “Owl or me, nothing else.”

To that, the old fighter smirked and padded at his shoulder. “Scratch owls. They can be tracked. Give 'em an owl-ward. You bring the messages. Period.”

That finally gave Sirius a stop. He looked at his mentor in confusion. “You wanted him as a spy. And now you simply back off?”

Moody barked out a laugh. “His information is useful. We will get to that. But not as important as your, his or serpent's life.” He looked grim and smug and so perfectly unthreatening threatening as only Moody could.

It relaxed Sirius some, but he felt the need for a final clarification: “He is presumed dead. He stays that way. Or he is dead for real.” The older auror didn't object.

\---

It was a common routine now. Check your glamour, whenever you enter or leave a room. Check the wards, too. He was still bad at that, couldn't say, if they were any good, but at least, if they were in place. Then calming down. Assessing the situation, understanding, what was needed. Ignoring, what they wanted him to do. It never fitted. Run the most basic diagnostic charms to verify the assumptions, rerun, until you get it right. He rarely needed a second run anymore. Master Hermes had a talent in teaching.

What he struggled to do, maybe would never get completely right, was leaving his emotions outside, like Paracels Avicen or the journeymen did. He wasn't made of the same stuff. And by now, Hermes knew that. He had wanted him to change. Had tried everything. Everything. But now.... it wasn't about staying cold anymore. It was about making the pain bearable. And somewhere along the way he had started to trust against better judgment. Again.

“Your bonded...”Master Hermes watched him, while he washed his hands thoroughly as all the healers here did. “Who are they? To you, I mean?” Handing him the lotion to keep the skin from cracking he winked. “I know you are... secretive. You don't trust me. Yet...”

Tristan shrugged, carefully salving his hands. “Regulus saved me. I just... returned the favor, I didn't know, I was doing it, something similar with the other.”

The watery blue eyes of the old man radiated the smile, the face did not share. “What did you do then?” It sounded teasing, curious and not nearly as calculated as it used to. “How did it happen?”

“Dark Magic.” It wasn't as if he needed to lie about that, here, of all places. “I sacrificed for a lifestealer.” He cast his eyes down, although he was pretty sure, Master Hermes didn't do Legilimency. He didn't need it, as he could still make Tristan feel, like he was able to read everything from his face.

“Who cast it?”

Tristan exhaled uneasily, but didn't answer, knowing it wouldn't throw Master Hermes of course but trying anyways. “Who cast if for you, child?” When he still refused, the old man nodded. “Ah, I see. You know, why we don't do that, do you?”

Tristan shook his head. Of course he was aware of the principles. Never get involved. Never compromise your judgment or worse, your safety. But that wasn't it, what the teacher was aiming at. “Sharing your life force, when there are already feelings involved. Your blood, your body, your health. Foolish.” The elderly healer shook his head and reached out, his lverly soft hands brushing the skin on Tristan's forearms. “You love so easily, child. It's dangerous. And yet, you live and are in good health, comparably. I start to suspect, it's more of a strange, than I could imagine. The unique thing, you have, the others didn't.”

Tristan furrowed his brow and suppressed a grin. Trust, no matter, how hard people tried to convince themselves, was never as one-sided as they assumed. He wasn't the only one, exposing more than intended. “The others?”

Master Hermes scratched his sparse hair absent-mindedly. “I met two. Heard of three more. The only surviving was my teacher. And he only survived, because his family, my family, knew what to look for.” Five in a lifetime. And not even confirmed. All dead, or so he had to assume. Thoughtfully he chewed his lower lip. “Maybe they were just tired? It... it hurts.” As did the honesty with himself, the lessons here allowed him. Compassion was painful. Uncomfortable. It hurt badly. Compassion, love, whatever, wasn't what had kept him alive. Harsh discipline was, a keeper how loved him enough to be hard at him. Circumstances that forced him to find the strength underneath his weaknesses. He didn't tell his teacher, though. Their truce went only so far.

The first, even cursory study of the books, he obtained from Sirius, made it abundantly clear to Regulus, what a bad job they had done with the wards, they put up. Knowing, about their interaction with muggle technology it was no wonder, they caused all kind of trouble, as they were brute-forced to work for maximum safety, without ever taking into account subtility.

He intended to make a better job of the next set, he would put up, and dug right into the stuff, although the books were written in complicated and overly intellectual language. Not at all, what Sirius would have liked, explaining very well, why he had put them away the second he got the general hang of it. It wasn't, that he couldn't have done it, he just... wasn't interested in things like that. Sirius had always been one for the great picture. Act big, think big, let others handle the details.

Regulus was these others and found, he liked it. All the details, all the small nuances. He was made for this. It was, as if the training for smallest cues in social interaction where the perfect preparation for understanding the smallest hints in magic. It was... perfect. For the first time in his life he had something, that no one he knew could do better, more easily, single-handedly. For the first time, he had something, only he could do, where he was no spare, but, if he put his mind into it, soon the first choice.

Just, when he got comfortable with the thought, making himself some tea, before studying the next set of wards with their precautions, counters and delicacies, someone knocked at the door. 'Not the neighbors again' he hoped, but it was unlikely anyways, they always used this obnoxiously loud doorbell, as if they presumed, nobody in this apartment had ears. No... only wizards knocked properly. And this wizard was Lupin. The wards confirmed it.

Reluctantly Regulus opened the door and invited him in, before heading to the kitchen, preparing another mug of tea. “Tristan isn't here, you know?” he declared over his shoulder, while the older man came in and leaned against the counter, not quite as comfortable as Sirius would have.

“I know. I just... Listen, James is bored out of his mind and Lily wants to talk to Tris. They want you over for weekend, and since I know for a fact, Tris will agree, I am here to talk it out with you.” That was... blunt. Regulus knew, Lupin had not had the same upbringing as he had, but earlier encounters had implied, he tried. Something should have rubbed of from... No wait, it was his brother they were talking about. Compared to him, Lupin was politeness impersonated.

He sighed. He didn't want to. He wanted to use his weekend to tell Tris about all the things he had found, wanted to make sure, he was okay, relax him, cuddle with him, making sure, these damned healers had done nothing unforgivable to him. As usual. “Sorry, we can't. Tris is working most Saturdays.”

Lupin grinned shamelessly. “Not this one, I have been assured. So... if this is your only objection?”

With an audible noise, his hands crashed on the surface of the counter. “I am not that easily manipulated, Lupin. If you have something to say, say it.” He turned, watching Sirius' his eyes flashing in subdued anger.

The sigh, Lupin gave, was sadder, than he could explain. “It is good for you. You need people, contacts. Some change. You can't just bury yourself here. Believe me, I tried, it doesn't work in the long run.”

Regulus watched him in confusion. “What is in it for you? And why would you try to hide?” At least his anger was gone, he noticed, as he leaned back, handing one mug of tea over and nursing the other.

“Funny that. Tristan asked me the very same question. The first one, mind. The second...” he made a non-committal gesture, before dropping the w-bomb. Werewolf. Lupin. A fucking werewolf. But how... and why.... Questions over questions raced through his mind, fighting for attention and losing it in seconds, against the one major point: if Lupin was dark, a creature, a half-breed, was he a traitor too? Did he report to that monster Greyback? Or to his evilness himself?

“Why are you here?” he managed to press out. “For real.”

Lupin sighed. “Clear the air, make sure, you are alright. Offer you friendship. They know, Regulus. Sirius, James, Tristan too. It's not an issue.”

“Then why do you tell me?”

The...werewolf sighed. “Establishing basic trust, I guess. We all have our secrets. Our darkness, our... sore points. It's about time, you understand, you aren't as alone as you think. We are not perfect people. Not light impersonate. We are... fighting in a war, we may very well be losing, and we are only human. You made mistakes, we did. It's time to look beyond that, isn't it? Come over, get to know us.” Was he pleading?

Regulus drank tea and pondered, before slowly nodding. “Maybe you are right. No point in dying alone.”

Lupin relaxed after that.


	60. The enemies of my enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Regulus visit the Potters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look... The writer's block broke a little. I hope, I can keep hammering it away. But some major inspirations hit me today, so... I hope, we will soon have another update. Wednesday? Ish?

A small hand pressed into his, a shy smile, coming from a slightly pinched face. Nervous eyes and a high-pitched voice. “Will that hurt?”

However much Tristan hated these situations, he was terrifyingly good at them. Kids trusted him almost always implicitly, as if they found a familiar spirit in him. He shook his head at the kid, a girl this time and grinned. “No, sweetheart, not at all. I will be so very careful, you won't even notice.” He never lied, though. If it hurt, he told them. They wanted to know, no matter, what adults thought. And they appreciated it.

Master Hermes watched his interaction always with weary eyes, but never interrupted. Paracels Avicen loved to get away from them and only gave Tristan an appreciative nod, before getting the hell out. His dark frame and studious impression did never sit well with them, he reminded kids too much of their favorite or mostly not so favorite tutors.

This here, was easy though. Aradoria Rowle came from a loving family, despite the implications of the name. She would do well in life, go to school, have some good years, marry a good husband, she probably wouldn't love, but would get along with, have a few kids of her own... She was basically having the life, Tristan would have had, had he been a girl as had been expected. Or the one, intended for his future companion. Funny that, really.

The longer he worked here, doing things, he loved, helping people, who needed it, learning things, he would have never imagined, albeit at high cost for himself, the more the bitterness burned away. He had not been made for that life. He had gotten away. Regulus had been his way out, his only chance of escaping a terrible fate.

It was liberating. It was worth, hurting, crying, fighting. It was worth the tiredness of long workdays, the dread, when he knew, someone was dying and couldn't do a thing, the terror, if he came upon a dark mark, always in fear to be recognized.

It never happened, most adult pure-blood didn't even really look at him, wouldn't have known, even without the glamour. It was oddly comforting and unsettling at the same time. He had known before. He had just never realized.

\----

Regulus stepped into the floo at Sirius' place reluctantly, and not only because he hated the indignant tumble awaiting him on the other side. The closer the weekend and therefore this moment had come, the less he still stood by his already not very firm agreement. He had just found no good reason to politely back out again. He was still here now.

Stumbling out on the other side as he anticipated, he was caught, which he had not. No one could be that fast. Except, the comparably old man with the strange artificial eye had done it anyways. Startled Regulus halted a moment, before stepping away quickly, flattening his robes in nervous gesture.

Behind him Tris stepped into the room, light and nimble as ever, the body of a boy with the spirit of a warrior. Unless his inner child woke again, Regulus admitted, as his lover cried out torn between happiness and distrust. “moody, didn't know, you'd be here.” That explained a lot. “What happened to your eye? Taking yourself apart by bits again?”

The famous auror barked a self-mocking laughter and stepped around Regulus to pat Tristan on the back roughly. “Well, had to make do without you around, hm? Has its uses, though. Wouldn't change back.”

Regulus went further into the room, greeting Potter and Evans, before Lupin and Sirius appeared and took over on that front. Then he faded into the background, feeling kind of useless. When it lasted for mere minutes, before Moody turned his attention to him, he wasn't sure, if that was any better. “So... Mr. Black it is.”

Even when he nodded, it felt strange, when everyone else nowadays addressed him by his given name to distinguish him from Sirius. “To be painstakingly clear from the start: I won't answer questions and I don't trust you any.”

Alastor Moody laughed out harshly and humorlessly. “I see, we have something in common.” He stood uncomfortably close nonetheless and studied Regulus in silence. The younger Black chose not to interrupt for it gave him ample excuse to stare back and make up his own mind.

However, before either could get more hostile, Sirius came closer. “Be nice, Regulus. If we can convince him, you have gone over for real, he may help with your... education.” As if...

\----

Lunch was a rather tense procedure at first. Moody tipped off by the presence of two presumably dead people and the risks their presence here carried, brooded over possibilities and necessities, as if he didn't already had done it dozens of times before, ever since he had been informed.

Regulus meanwhile looked like he wanted to melt into the ground, meeting no one's eyes and speaking no word, his hand continually brushing Tristan's skin in unconscious pursuit of comfort and reassurance.

How could he not react to that? Very unlike his usual demeanor, Tris tried to start idle chatter over every inconspicuous topic, he could get hold of, trying to ease the tension as much as possible.

He would have failed as per usual, small talk was not his best ability, but found allies in both Sirius and Lily who jumped at the opportunity to get everyone loosen up a little.

With that, one after the other cracked. First James joined in, telling a story about that one time, when he tried to gain Lily's attention and accidentally slipped of his broom in a very acrobatic fashion, making for a spectacular descent that unfortunately no one but Sirius saw. And being the friend he was, he refused to comment beyond a grinning furrow of his brow.

\----

Remus was all willing to follow especially, since Tristan could tell, he had grown fond of Regulus, although being the distrustful Slytherin he was, it would take him ages to actually notice (and believe) that. Soon Regulus was included in all kinds of conversation. How he liked Oxford, if he wanted some more peas and when he intended to get his hair cut – Lily was willing to assist there.

Only Moody remained characteristically distant, watching them all discontentedly as they befriended someone, he might still prefer for an intense questioning. Then again, he might want to question them as well. If only for their sanity.

One sad thing, not necessarily in Tristan's opinion was, that Peter couldn't be there, apparently the new normal. Maybe, he suggested, Peter had finally found a girlfriend (or boyfriend) and had somewhere else to be. This sounded reasonable and they settled for it.

\----

The afternoon, although he had never thought it possible, was near perfect. They had a small flying match within the constraints of the wards and Regulus noticed, how he had missed flying. And not only flying, but also competing against other good flyers as well. Both Sirius and Potter were better than he wanted to admit.

And he didn't even have to have a bad conscience for Lupin and Evans kept Tristan's company and seemed quite happy about it.

Curiously Regulus found himself laughing more freely than he could remember doing, diving around another broom, feeling his robes bunch and flutter in the wind and rising again in an elegant curve. Somehow they all were schoolboys again, playing, mocking and having fun with each other. Schoolboys like at least Regulus knew for sure, he had never been in reality.

Maybe even his constantly vigilant mind needed some respite after all the distrust, all the strain. And if said respite didn't include talking, even better.

\----

“I am a bit worried, you know?” Lily did look up, her eyes following the brooms above them, but her mind was occupied with Tristan. He was vaguely aware, Remus was sitting by their side, meaning, she probably wouldn't talk about their most difficult topic. Unless she found something even worse, of course. “This whole apprenticeship thing. What do they teach you anyways?”

Tristan didn't want to talk about it. There were good things. Helping people, learning, what to do. And what not to, certainly what not to do. He couldn't even tell her most of those. And he wouldn't tell her about the other things, for sure.

The continued training to withstand unforgivables. The details, why dark magic tended to hollow out those using it, and why he was in no danger from that, due to his very different choice of necessary sacrifice. The specifics of the more unsavory healing spells, some of which were almost as bad as the conditions they cured, if more easily tackled by additional magic.

After some elongated silence, clearly communicating his reluctance, he shrugged. “It's enlightening.” With an added smile he continued: “And it passes the time.”

He hoped, caught under the “Fidelius” Lily could relate enough for her to desire to vent a little to a sympathetic ear, so it would throw her of her path. He had underestimated her inquisitive mind. “Tris, no matter, what they make you think, there are ways out of an apprenticeship. If they don't treat you well...”

He had to stop her right there. “Lily: no matter, what you think of them. I... I need this. Even with the best of intentions: what I do, can be dangerous. Fatal even. It worked last time. And the time before... and... I cannot always be that lucky.” He dared not even start on how he had not been lucky at all.

It didn't appease Lily at all. “They are using your high moral standards against you. Make you believe, they hold the key to your soul. But that's not true. You have always been good. They have no say in that.”

Great. Now Remus felt inclined to blow into the same horn. “Please, Tristan, tell us, what is amiss.”

Never had he hated more to be a bad liar. He could distort the truth, omit things, but outright lying never worked for him. Wouldn't now, either.

“I am fine. I am only somewhat annoyed they are about as likely to study me as they are to teach me something.” That was about one quarter of the truth and unpleasant enough, maybe. Lily was a little nosy, after all, and in difference to Regulus' well-deserved curiosity, with her, he _did_ mind.

Now, Remus became an advantage. He wasn't nosy and felt Tristan's discomfort, so he insistently changed the topic.

\----

Dinner came and went and with it, thankfully, Moody. He had had his shot at judging if Regulus' “change of mind” was genuine and probably decided, how to proceed. Little did he know, fortunately. Regulus had no change of mind, no epiphany, no sudden revelation. He still firmly and truly believed in the superiority of pure-bloods, the duty to uphold the old families, the necessity to guard their word against mudblood customs and muggle restrictions. He just happened to believe in Tristan, too, or more precisely in his explanation, how the Dark lord tainted their souls and knew, by own experience, how little he cared about the declared aims of his most loyal death eaters, if they didn't fit his own agenda.

And then... he would easily betray any one at the table. Potter, Evans, probably even their half-blooded child. Most certainly Moody. Maybe Remus and at last Sirius... with all the remaining bitterness between them. But betraying Tristan... It would be easier to betray his own heart. And Tris would never go over, even if that had not been a death warrant by itself.

If this concluded as sufficient “change of mind” so be it. He certainly wouldn't argue. And in the meantime he committed himself to get to know Sirius' (and now Tristan's) friends better. He wouldn't have much of a choice anyways. So he joined his brother, Lupin and Potter for a glass of firewhisky or two, better only one maybe, just in case, while Evans took up Tristan's offer to help her tug her little spawn in.

Regulus refrained from interfering, both because he thought, Tris was better off without drinking and because Evans had hinted all day, she wanted to talk with him alone. The sooner they indulged her, the less time she would spend nagging.

It also felt damn good to be perceived as adult for a change, if only just. Sitting with the other now men, who had always regarded him as just a child, talking about more serious topics than before, The disappearances, the fights, everything, was strangely comforting.

He should have been shocked to learn about the specifics, especially where Tristan had been involved, but he wasn't in the dark anymore. They were trusting him enough to tell him. No longer would he be waiting and hoping in vain. And one day, maybe not soon, but who knew, he would join them fully to guard his loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you thought, Regulus has gone soft... probably, but not for the lack of trying, but for the lack of adequate opponents. Here, I have him back on track, as gloriously sarcastic as I like him... Posh git.


	61. The replacement of trust with desparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some uncomfortable topics are put on the table in Godric's Hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kettle is boiling again, let's see, how you like the tea ;)  
> Next update might not be until sunday though, I am occupied a bit on Friday and Saturday. But: I am confident, I will have more by then.

“Tell me, what you found.” Lily wasted no time on idle chat, once little Harry lay safely in his bed with his cuddly toy magically singing lullabies in mommy's voice.

It wasn't exactly what he wanted to talk about, but he understood. She was nervous about it. How could she not? “I can't give you details, just now. The book is still in my trunk in Hogwarts, Sirius promised to get it for me.”

“You are pulling my leg. “ Lily sat down hard on a kitchen chair, shaking her head. “Hiding stuff like that in your trunk?”

That one made Tristan grin. Poor oblivious Gryffindors. Slytherin hid far worse things than some measly book on healing magic and wards in their trunks. And did so effectively. “We need to make it work together. It's originally intended to guard a place, not a person. Most old family homes have something similar.”

He could literally see goosebumps rising on her arms. “You mean... all these old wizarding manors... someone died for their wards?” She looked torn between shaking in horror and throwing up. Oh, the blissful ignorance of muggleborns.

“Mostly not just one. Usually unruly servants.” He didn't know, what made him add: “Or illegitimate children, if blood relation was necessary. What did you think, why blood wards are outlawed these days?”

the look on her face made more than clear, she hadn't known. And he didn't even tell her that in difference to their current situation, blood wards were more often than not created, because you could, not because you needed them. But maybe something else would help to calm her.

“It is a more painless death than most, if you crossed the old families. It even relieved your soul, only the life force was needed.” Yep, worked well, judging by her horrified look. And he didn't even get started on soul wards that trapped their sacrifices in eternal guardianship.

Lily closed her eyes and huffed exasperatedly. “Are you trying to make this easier? If so, it isn't working.” She covered her face with her hand for a moment, wiping the terror away like spiderwebs. “We don't have much of a choice, though, do we?” Now, looking back at him, her gaze was sharp as ever.

Tristan shifted his weight a bit and deliberately spread the fingertips, laying them very still on the table's surface. “I wouldn't suggest it, if there was any other way, I could think of. You are in danger and so is Harry by association. His age, his innocence... neither will stop them. Makes it only easier. We give him, what we can, or he is just another notch in someones handle.”

He could see, his matter-of-factual tone helped her focus on the important part. Especially, when he added: “We'll make it work, and we'll make it safe. I've heard, you are the best with charms and I can help with the familial components – the dark. If you trust Reg on that – I know, small chance – he is even better with those...”

She nodded, thinking, already half engulfed in calculations, how much risk she'd be willing to take. “What about Sirius?”

Tristan declined. “He's good, but this is not his... kind of work.”

“And on my own?” He didn't get started on the delicacies Master Hermes had forced upon him, on _that_ topic, just informed her, it was... too complicated.

\----

“I swear.” Regulus chuckled, just slightly drunk. “And then he threw up all over her...” he made an all-encompassing gesture over his upper body. “She was livid... and she couldn't even say a thing, because she had made him...”

Sirius looked thoroughly mortified, as he went on. “She never even looked in his direction again. Almost worth it, I guess.” On his next look to his brother, darkness bled in, as he remembered, what had happened next. He stumbled over his words, tongue-tied all of a sudden: “I... I'm sorry, Siri... I'm so sorry.” A sob made its way out of his suddenly sore throat. “I didn't remember... I mean... I didn't... think of it.”

His older brother stood up, swaying a bit, and walked over, alarming him, then more fell than sat down next to him. “Reg? Shut up.” His fist bumped Regulus' upper arm, hurting not at all.

A moment of silence unfolded, then Lupin chimed in, telling a ridiculous story on how the glorious Gryffindor headboy and his best friends failed spectacularly at presenting Lily Evans with the best possible bouquet of flowers on valentine's.

\----

_The spell hit his brother square in the chest, shaking the small frame, forcing him to stumble back helplessly. For a nausea-inducing moment, he hung over the ledge suspended in time and space, a picture of youth and innocence, so striking, yet so easily destroyed._

_Then he fell, rolling down the steep surface, colliding with trees and shrubbery, thrown around like a mere puppet, his head lolling around._

_A fence broke his fall, impaled the body, thick blood now sluggishly dripping like a living, slimy creature. More blood crept out of the mouth in sync with each elaborate breath, while a gash on the head colored the hair slowly, until its original tone became indiscernible, until the boy looked like a twisted mirror image of himself, pain distorting the face into the familiar Malfoy scowl, that only died, when his brother did._

Lucius didn't know, if it had happened like that. It seemed unlikely, judging by the fact, the body had not been found. But the dream still made him think. The boy could still be his undoing, could even in death pose a lethal danger to Lucius, his wife and heir. Few knew about the connection now, the family of course, the staff of Hogwarts, some friends. The Dark Lord hopefully not. And if he did, he did not need to be reminded.

Determined, his mind reaching a decision, he rose from bed, shushing Narcissa, until she returned to sleep. Outside their room, he summoned Aspri, his lead house elf at the moment and instructed her: I want every evidence of my brother destroyed. In pictures, rooms, even the family tree. I want his files from Hogwarts and from the ministry pulled. I will talk to the officials about our inability to return them, later. Even the smallest trace shall be removed.”

The small creature bowed, full of obedience, but had enough trust in her position to remind him: “Aspri can't remove Master Tristan from the wards, sir. And Hogwarts people remember, too.”

For a moment he pondered venting his frustration onto her, but realized, just in time, she would perform better unharmed. “It can't be helped for now. But make sure, there is no hint left to make people ask them questions.” Aspri bowed again and disappeared, efficient as usual. If she couldn't handle it on her own, no elf could, and she was confident enough to tell him that, he could take care of the rest.

By the end of the this day, only whispers would remain of his once hated, now deceased brother. No one would ever know about his betrayal of all their principles, his turning away from the Dark Lord. And Lucius would be safe enough to not even think about him anymore.

\----

The guest bedroom in Godric's Hollow was awfully small, especially for four people at once, so Sirius and Lupin decided to come back in the morning. Regulus and Tristan remained, knowing, it would be trying to side-along to Oxford and back in the morning, more than slightly tipsy. In addition, the bedroom was still better than the transfigured couches in Sirius' flat. It was also nice that it allowed them some undisturbed talk, he felt Tristan needed.

At least that was, what it looked like, when the little one nuzzled his body against him in familiar intimacy. “I thought, you liked them?”

Tris hid his face against him, his breath burning on Regulus skin, even through the pajama. “Doesn't make it any easier to deal with them.”

Interesting point of view, and honestly, Regulus could relate. Strange, how it came always back to the two of them, supporting each other like no one, nothing else could. For all he cared, the world could go to waste, as long as he got to keep this, this alone.

But Tristan didn't work like that. He needed to know, others were safe and happy. It complicated things, especially since he beat himself over the head with guilt, if they weren't. Which, in the end, made their well-being Regulus' problem.

Tenderly he wrapped his hands around Tristan's cheeks and pulled him up, kissing his lips, again and again, until they opened for him. “What did they do to you?” A kiss. “What have they said?” Another.

Tris withdrew just a little. “That's not it. Evading their questions is just...” His lips twisted as he bought time, kissing back. “They care. I'm not used to... care. I am used to handle things on my own.”

Regulus grinned and jabbed his side. “Are you now?”

The little one smiled back, when he started to pet is back. “Mostly?” Regulus turned around, caging him in between his arms. “So then... you don't need me?” A game, played so often and still so exciting, every single time.

“Well, you are almost me. And besides... I am yours.”

The triumph, the warmth, thrilled him like it was the first time. He didn't want to own anymore. But to belong. He wasn't a spare for Tris, they shared a world, a whole universe. “And I am yours. Go to sleep, will you? It was a long day.”

“Ho can I, when you are lurking like that?” Tristan asked, aching up for one more kiss. Regulus moved away and laughed. “Oh my. Debauchery on your friends' guest bed. Naughty.” They had long since understood, every chance needed using. You never knew, about tomorrow's nasty surprises.

\---

Nothing ever looked good at five in the morning. Especially not waking up in a bed soaked in sweat, a wild animal – if harmless – animal in your arms. But that sometimes happened, when the nightmares came back. He knew, what to do then, he had plenty of practice, since the apprenticeship started. First getting rid of the blankets and sheets. Tris never woke up from that. But he stilled, wrapped in a new blanket, safely in his arms. Only then you could wake him up, slowly calm his sobs, until he was able to talk. He would rarely say much, sometimes it made no sense at all. It was still important to listen, to be there. It made him tired again, sluggish, easily put back into bed. At five in the morning, that was a little to much to get back to bed himself, so he headed for the kitchen, finding Potter already there.

“Mornin'” he drawled lazily, unable to decide, if Potter would just let him check the drawers for coffee or if he would be cross. In the end, he just sat down without, looking still somewhat dully at the table. “Bad night?” He didn't like, how his voice dropped back to boyish, soft tones, when he was unwell.

Potter sat still for a while, then stood up wordlessly, preparing tea for two, then sitting down again, handing one mug to Regulus. “I wanted to tell you: I am sorry.”

Regulus frowned, but didn't ask.

“The last years were harsh teachers to me. I know now, I could have been better. Could have... prevented a lot of bad stuff, if I … would have wanted to look, to understand.”

It didn't make any sense to Regulus still sleep-meddled brain. He took a sip of tea, rolling the still to hod liquid softly in his mouth, until it cooled enough to swallow it. His eyes meanhwile didn't leave Potter, until he continued.

“I should have... been a better friend. Understood, what you meant to Sirius. Understood, how the world went to hell.” He shook his head, chasing away futile regrets. “I want you to know, you are welcome here. As Sirius was and still is. As... Tristan, once he wormed his way in.”

“Wormed his way in?” Regulus protested. “Hardly.”

It made Potter shrug. “He's like... a shy kitten. You try to tame him, lure him into your proximity, only to find out, that is, where he was headed all along. And where he gets annoyingly comfortable.”

Regulus grinned. Granted, Tris had a talent to sway reluctant hearts. But he objected on account of fairness. “He really doesn't do it on purpose.” Quite the contrary, in hindsight. He had fought his lover every step on the way. Reminiscing Regulus closed his eyes, savoring another sip of tea. “But thank you. For apology and invitation. I need neither though. No offense meant.”

It was difficult to figure out the right distance, the right amount of familiarity. This was so very different from normal pure-blood or Slytherin interaction.

When Potter's face darkened, he knew, he had messed it up. There was, after all, a reason, why he had never tried that before. He wasn't Sirius, to whom interaction and charisma came like he was made from it.

“I... am used to solitude. And to people overlooking me in favor of him. It's not nearly your mistake alone, so...” And that had not always been a bad thing either. Even his parents... No... not now. Not when Tristan might have another nightmare about that just now, not when he finally managed to apologize to Sirius, just a few hours ago. Had he really failed to understand, why Sirius left?

The next sip, more of a gulp, burned his mouth and made him cough. He knew, he had. He hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to go with him, he hadn't understood, why he was left behind. And... it was complicated, because he had not really wanted to leave either. He wasn't...

Potter's hand patting his back stopped both the coughing and the chaos of intermingling thoughts. “Go back to bad, do.”

Regulus declined. “It's pathetic really” he said sardonically. “It's not even my nightmares keeping me upright, most of the time.”

Potter stopped, whatever he had been doing. “Acutally... it's not. For what felt like a long time, he studied something far, far away outside the kitchen window. “Moody says, we can't save everyone. He thought, we couldn't safe serpent. Or you. Distrusts you both. Tell me, he's wrong.” Suddenly his eyes snapped back to Regulus, who had no answer that was not a lie.

“I have the feeling, I might not live to see Harry grow up. Neither might your brother. We are in too deep. I will need people watching out for my wife, my son. I know, your friend will, Merlin alone knows why.” With an annoyed swear he added, mumbling to himself: “And even he might be clueless, why I'm asking you...”

Regulus tried not to stare dumbstruck. Well, that took a strange turn, for certain. He licked his lips, buying time, then answered: “We might not be around either. Our names are still high on the list, once someone finds out...”

Another bit of tea concealed the shiver. “But if... I can tell you, no matter what: Tris will be there.” He now sported his best sarcastic scowl. “One would think, I was making the decisions there.” Small chance for that, as long as Tristan's moral standards made him risk his life, like it was nothing. “Even if I could... I am all in, I fear.” And goods, did he feel lucky, James Potter was just as perceptive as Sirius and didn't get even half of the implications. He really didn't dare elaborate, not even in his own mind. His pride didn't take all of that very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I especially like the contrast of Regulus with others versus Regulus with Tristan. And I must admit: I love the sarcastic bastard in him... Gives perspective to all this idealism, I think...


	62. Soft linings over hard edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the visit to Godric's Hollow, some alone time. And some little events with potentially bigger consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a change in plans, you get sundays update like... now. I hope to have another ready on Sunday or maybe Monday... Let's see, how that turns out.   
> Have fun until then, I have some surprise planned.

Remus watched from not to far away, how Tristan produced magical bubbles for Harry, creating the shapes of dragons, unicorns, magic castles, flying brooms and whatever else crossed his mind. Remus didn't know, what he was telling the child, but knew, but were happy, not minding the looming shadow their unhappy guardian, Regulus, at all. It was almost cute, how the older boy, still, even in the safety of the Fidelius charm felt it his duty to watch out for them.

Lost in this thought, he didn't even turn, when Sirius sat down next to him, handing him a butterbeer. “Did we chose right for them? What do you think?”

Sirius, squatting for a while beside his seat watched them quietly, before deciding on an answer. “I think, it's no longer our decision to make.” He carefully put his hand on Remus knee until their eyes met, then let the corners of his mouth rise encouragingly. “ I know, they look better here. Safer, happier. But they can't stay. Not under the circumstances. And beside... they look like children. They aren't. Remember us, few years ago.”

Remus nodded. How little time had passed, since Sirius had decided to join Moody and wouldn't take no for an answer. Turned out, he had been right, this very specific time. He did splendidly, against all odds. “We all need to find our place, I guess” he admitted, only slightly bitter. He had mostly come to terms with fact that he didn't have the same opportunities as others. And “rooming” with Sirius kept him free for all the little tasks needed for running the Order. Still at the side of people like James or Sirius you learned to dream big, not to content yourself so easily.

The grip on his knee got stronger, guiding him back to the present time. “You'd make a good teacher. You always try to better everyone and you worry to much.” Sirius' smirk left it to imagination, if he was pulling his leg.

“Better not, I'd be grey in no time.”

\----

“Don't be so grumpy.” Tristan grinned and shoved the little hellspawn into his arms, before he could refuse. “I clean up here and you bring him to Lily for a change of diapers?”

Regulus sniffed indignantly, unable to decide, what was worse, the unmistakable stench from down below or the sticky patches, little clumsy hands left all over his previously clean robe. But throwing Tristan an annoyed look had failed to work for a very long time now, and so it was better to get to the task as soon as possible, so the little litterbug was someone else's problem, even if that meant, getting into talking distance of another nosy semi-adult, who thought she knew better than him. Lily at least held no leverage and he didn't intend to hand her some.

As expected, she didn't even try to resist the temptation to speak with him alone. “So... Sirius' brother, hm?” How original. He frowned, trying to hand over the kid, which she did not take initially. “You must have inherited all the brains then.” Chuckling at his astonishment, she freed the boy from his arms and turned to put him on the changing table to clean him up. “Must have been difficult around him.”

She had no idea. And he didn't want to give her one. “Is there something you need to ask, before we can both go our merry ways?” Hopefully good old-fashioned sarcasm would either discourage or anger her and give him back his peace.

But she wasn't like Potter. She had both restraint and brains. Dangerous combination for a mudblood, who would not only despise his opinions, but also take offense. Wasn't it nice he treated everyone with equal hostility, so she wouldn't notice, her position annoyed him more than usual?

“Not particularly, no.” A short gaze over the shoulder pinned him in his place. “You are just as stubborn as him, though.” Small efficient movements of hands and wand wrapped the now clean toddler up again, capturing too much of Regulus' attention. “So I start to ask myself... why?”

Could he play dumb with her? Probably not. As much as her heritage (or the lack there-off) appalled him, he still had to admire her intelligence and rational mind. “Because of him.” He didn't specify. If she was good enough, she could figure it out.

Lily heaved the child on her hip and turned, sucking on her front teeth thoughtfully. “One of a kind, hm? That's what James told me. See, that it doesn't turn into a lie, okay?” For a moment, he felt lost, unable to figure out, what she wanted to tell him. Then, all conviction to keep her out be damned, he felt the strange urge to reassure her, to tell her of Tristan, of their unique connection, of.... everything. He didn't of course, but his face still showed too much of what lay below the mask of cool distance.

It didn't escape her attention. “I hate to break it to you, but you are not that subtle.” Dammit. “Little brothers are a pain in the ass, hm?” Thank Merlin for misinterpretations, he thought, not quite sure, her smile absolved him. Maybe she was a snake in Gryffindor's hide? In that case... Plausible deniability...

\----

Sunday afternoon brought their departure and with that blessed silence. Tristan still often felt overwhelmed and exhausted by so many people around. And those were friends, to a certain (varying) degree. It must have been so much worse for Regulus, who didn't know them yet and had been confronted with lots of distrust still.

So he pushed aside his own tiredness, as soon as they side-along-apparated back to Oxford and entered their flat, and went for the kitchen to make some tea and warm up some scones. Balancing both on his arms, he headed back to the living room, where Regulus sat in an armchair as he had hoped. He stopped and stared. He couldn't help it. Regulus, idly thumbing through a book, every hair on his head exactly where he wanted it, the very image of pure-blood perfection as Tristan would never achieve, was beautiful.

If in the ministry or at a dance, Regulus would never look out of place or awkward in any social setting. And even in this humble, muggle flat he managed to command the room effortlessly.

Tristan sighed inaudibly, just as Regulus decided, he had waited long enough. “I can feel you staring at me. Come over, will you?” He patted the seat of the other armchair softly, looking up and smiling his dark, secret smile, no one ever got to see, and that was just as tempting (or more so) as any rogue smile of Sirius.

Sheepishly Tristan broguht the plates and cups, placing them carefully on the table, before sitting down. “Now I am yours alone again” he teased, hoping to raise lighten the mood even more.

It didn't seem to work as intended, when Regulus scowled: “It was about time.” But then a wave of emotion rushed over him, uncontrolled through the bond, Regulus pretending, he was to preoccupied to pay attention. Tenderness, longing, warm splashes of love, gentle like a caress. He pulled Tristan over into his lap, carelessly discarding the book. “You know, I wanted to sou you something all week. I always got distracted.”

It was hard to refrain from tempting him again. Just one little leaning back, one vertebra after the other, slowly, would do the job. But no. Later. Now he listened to Regulus' plans for the wards and their shielding against detection and elec... whatever.

And wasn't it handy to break the topic of blood wards thereafter? “I need to ask you something.? He took great care not to shift his weight nervously. Regulus couldn't miss that, while he sat right on his lap, facing him. “Speaking theoretically, could we dilute a blood ward enough to avoid the need for... a full sacrifice?”

Regulus didn't flinch. Didn't seem fazed at all. “So that's what you were after.” He laughed, dipping his nose into Tristan's collarbone. “you... can vary blood wards a lot. Nothing for us, of course, but well... Without life force though, it's so weak, it hardly does anything worth considering.”

Tristan wasn't happy about that, but didn't change plans. He had suspected as much. “When is it needed? Latest, I mean...”

He could almost feel Regulus thinking. “You plan something, sweet. Dare to tell me?”

“Not yet.” He shook his head, combing Regulus' hair with his fingers. “So... when? During the ritual?”

“Before activation, I'd say. Good news?” Regulus leaned in, breath deepening, almost purring like a cat.

“Mhm...” Tristan nodded, resting his chin on Regulus crown, petting on. “How did you know, I was looking?”

“A good Slytherin knows, how he left his books...”

\----

Sirius brought the trunks in the evening providing them both with some treasured items. In Tristan's case they were of little monetary value, the few instruments of his work aside, but the intrinsic value was immeasurably higher. He showed Regulus the photos of baby Harry, of the summer holidays, of... the book, he had obtained, Merlin knew where. It was... interesting, to say the least.

For Regulus himself, the trunk also meant a good addition to his attire, once he had charmed away all the green and silver. Or at least some. It never hurt to have some pride in one's past. Not to mention a nice collection of simple charmed items to provide him with basic spellwork. A ring here, an amulet there... Now, that it was all he had, Regulus realized, he had made good use of his privileges. No heirlooms of course, but even the less sophisticated provisions of House Black he had been allowed to chose from was still... interesting.

Now that every little advantage came handy, Regulus couldn't help but thank his past self for being a sneaky, greedy little bastard, who aimed to make the best out of opportunities.

Besides... he would never admit it, not even to Tristan, but having some photos of his own, relieved him, too. Little Sirius pouting, two dark-haired kids, haunting Arcturus' garden, his grandfather watching contently, Orion and Walburga, proudly walking their firstborn to the Hogwarts express, Regulus trudging along. No matter, how each of them turned out, they still made good memories. They still held some comfort. They still reminded him, who he was and why he needed to do what he did.

One day, the responsibility to House Black would fall to Sirius and him. The magic of the house wouldn't be deceived by posing as dead. That day, he would need to remember. That day, he would need to do better than his parents had. That day would show, if he had made the right decisions.

\----

The last trace. One could almost get nostalgic. Soon, Tristan would be all but erased from the present reality. Nothing but fading memories would hint at his existence.

It was almost sad, come to think of it. Despite all the annoyance, all the defiant behavior, the tendency to stumble over all the wrong people and that terribly misled moral code they had had good times. Long ago. He had been such a cute little nuisance, while it lasted.

Fortunately, Lucius was not easily distracted by a few fond memories. He pricked his finger, pressing a single drop of blood onto the wardstone of Malfoy Manor and wiped his brother from the last place that counted, the wards and the family.

It was surprisingly easy, to do it, now, that he was Lord Malfoy, yet surprisingly hard to let go and so he sat down in the library afterwards, his fingers on a old book, every Malfoy child had been reading at one point in time or the other, yet keeping it closed. Perhaps, even the scribbles, left on the margins had been checked thoroughly to wipe any from his brother's hand out of existence, even the smallest remnants of his magical signature removed. Lucius still knew, his hand had touched his, for he had been the one, handing it out.

Now, safely in the past, the danger Tristan had posed, contained, he admitted, only to himself a little regret. He would not repeat that mistake, though. He would not make his son, his heir walk the same path. Narcissa had been awful during pregnancy anyways. And one was more than enough, if prepared correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take guesses on which event will have an impact, how and why ;)


	63. To be or not to be... a Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius decision has unexpected side effects that set Regulus out on a quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here my newest inspiration, how to go on. It is a bit of a filler in terms of the war, but I hope, you will like it none-the-less.  
> Next update Tuesday-Wednesday-ish... I'd say. Have a bit of a problem, need to figure it out until then... (I HATE writing action scenes...)

When it started, late at night, it looked like just another nightmare, the only worrisome thing about it the increased frequency of the appearances. Tristan spasmed, rolled into a fetal position whispering. The usual procedure didn't work though. And then he started crying, when he shouldn't even be awake yet. “Oh, that's unpleasant” he whispered, more to himself, then sat up, unnaturally pale, even for his heritage.

Regulus checked on him, confused and irritated. “What's up? Can't find anything?” Willing himself to stay in sitting potion, though falling back down seemed so much better, Tristan bit out. “Everything hurts... not like a cruciatus. Smaller, lower, weak, really, but everywhere.”

He gripped Regulus' hand, maybe in an attempt to comfort him, but grossly miscalculated, the lean fingers almost digging into the flesh, when his hand cramped in a wave of pain.

“Fuck, sorry.” He breathed into the pain to relax it again, until both the grip and his suffering subsided. “We better go meet Master Hermes... I have the feeling, I might need him.”

Regulus had already drawn the same conclusion and helped him get dressed, pressing on to hurry, where Tristan still seemed calm. But who could blame him. The little one never really let anyone know, how he was, so you had to assume the worst... Based on the same consideration he dared not apparate, although at this time of the day, or rather night, there would be no public transportation, they could use. Now it came handy, that Tristan ate well these days, improving his strength, and trusted him enough to help support him, when a wave of pain hit. They made it in very little time.

\----

The news were devastating. So bad in fact, that for a while the emotional pain overshadowed the physical one easily. He had had it coming, he knew. Should have had expected it sooner, even, with how eager Lucius had been to get rid of him. But being expelled from the family... another cut, where he already lay open, the wounds still to fresh to scar.

And he wouldn't even have known, if not for the blood-oath. This nasty little piece of magic created a paradox situation that made the removal very... heartfelt. Master Hermes explained it to both of them, scolding them like school boys and looked indeed more mad then he had ever seen him. “The blood oath was used to end feuds. Making two families become one ended the need for the feud. So from the moment of the ritual, both parties are literally part of the other family and go on to be.”

In short, it meant, was as much Malfoy as he was Black. And Tristan was caught up being Malfoy through bond trying to right itself and being not, through Lucius actions. Each part of him ripped itself apart in the futile endavor to determine, which was true (as it was supposed to be, so hostages couldn't be simply cutoff). It was bearable now, he still talked, walked, thought on his own, but it would get worse. Until it needn't be.

“So, what can we do?” Regulus barked, his eyes dark in fear and anger, impatience radiating from him.

That finally broke Master Hermes attempt of “I could have told you so.” and set a sad smile on his face. “I know of two ways, but one is unlikely to work. And both are unpleasant.”

“Stop stalling” Tristan pressed out, feeling the gradual increase of the next wave, forcing him into a low whine, before he could catch himself. Within a second, Regulus was back by his side, his fingertips drawing soothing patterns on his back.

“One... we sever the bond...”

“No...” he couldn't help but cry out, the notion to much to bear. “We'd be so alone.” It was barely a whisper, but the concerned faces of both his teacher and his lover told him, it hadn't been low enough to evade their attention.

Regulus frowned. “Why not? Whats the point? We break it, then simply do it again.”

It made Tristan cough. Regulus was more worried, than he realized or would admit or he would have thought it through, before he reduced the situation into stubborn simplicity. But before Tristan could correct him, Master Hermes did.

“The stronger the bond, the harder the backlash. Meaning, a bond so close puts both your lives at risk.” What he added, made Tristan's stomach plummet. “Besides: You cannot redo it. It's a noble bond, as I explained already. Once he loses his family status, he won't be recognized worthy in the sense of the bond anymore. It would simply kill him to try.”

Regulus grew more agitated by the minute. “So... that's the hard way then, what's the other?”

On Master Hermes look, Tristan sighed, catching his breath, so his words wouldn't sound tense once again. “It is the easy way.” He could feel his face distort, as he tried to go on, bracing himself for the inevitable. “Sever the bond. I want him safe.” What did his loneliness or even his death count against that priority, even when, just thinking about it, again, stunned him, the physical pain paling in comparison.

Now, Regulus refused, firmly changing to rational thinking. “What's the hard way, then?”

The old man sighed. “It's a slim chance. And it only can work, because he is still a minor. Children are entitled to certain basic protection in most noble houses, as in House Malfoy, if it abides to the usual set of rules. Adults can be expelled on any number of reasons of any scale. Minors though... The misconduct and its consequences must have a major impact on the family's reputation and future to justify the removal of that protection.”

Both Tristan's and Regulus' gazes were pinned on him, waiting impatiently for a conclusion.

“Older rights could outlaw Lord Malfoy's decision.”

Which was basically... “Necromancy.” Tristan flinched, and bit out, the pain making speaking continually harder: “Sever the bond, for Merlin's sake.” Another low whine followed the words, the pain already burning away his resolve. Regulus shut him up with a quick kiss, he received gratefully, before asking, what this would entail.

Even Master Hermes wasn't entirely sure, but painted a dark picture for them, probably on purpose. They, or at least one of them would need to get into the Malfoy family crypt on the Malfy family grounds to summon the ghosts of the past Lords and ask for their judgment on the matter. Which they could very well refuse and, being the vengeful spirits they were, rip the petitioner and his soul to pieces. Tristan had feared something like that, but felt, he couldn't safely elaborate the whole extent of the dangers included in that.

Tensely he spat: “If the wards don't kill us, the ghosts will. Sever the damned bond.”

But Regulus didn't listen, thoughtfully staring, he fidgeted with his lover's hair, before firing a barrage of questions at Master Hermes, until Tristan's pain-filled mind couldn't follow anymore. Reluctantly he settled against the body of his guardian, finding comfort and respite in its warmth.

\----

“How much time do we have?” Regulus was not overly fond of the dark healer, he well knew from his childhood checkups. But right now, he was the only source of information.

“I could do it right now. An hour is all I need. I would call my associate to deal with the aftermath.” The old man hurried away, checking the drawers for ritual components. But that wouldn't suffice. Regulus got goosebumps from the memory of Tristan's broken whisper. “We'd be so alone..” That one could create a few nightmares for him, to be sure.

With a growl he grabbed Hermes Ascolip's sleeve, carefully not disturbing the balance of Tristan leaning against him, breathing shakily. “Are you willfully ignorant or just generally oblivious? I won't let you sever the bond. We needed it, we still do. You can either help or stop stalling me.”

“You _need_ it?” The old man laughed, full of sarcasm. “You don't even know, what it is and how it works. If I sever it now, I may be able to safe one of you, possibly even both. But instead you choose to let him continue suffering.” With a huff he jerked forward, stabbing his thin, bony finger into Regulus' sternum. “A Black of all people should know not to dabble with magic he doesn't understand.” The harsh look on his face revealed, he was just as enthused of Regulus as the other way around.

Sirius would have had a temper tantrum now. Regulus instead fell back to acidic cynicism. “My sincere apologies for endangering your favorite study object in such ways as you deem unfit, but in case, you didn't notice... That's my friend, we are talking about. So when you have finished making accusations of us not adhering to your high standards for magical use, could you please step down from your high horse, stop being so incredibly self-righteous and start doing something actually helpful?” To stress the point, he bared his teeth, steadying Tris against him, before gently maneuvering him into a chair. “I hate to break the news to you, but _he_ will die, if you do this. He's asking, because he believes it too.” A quick look showed, Tris didn't intend to contradict. “For him, it's about saving me. Nothing else.”

This finally made Master Ascolip falter. He watched Regulus lowering himself to Tristan's eye level, caressing his hair out of his face and whispering to him: “Hey, little one, need your help here, hm?”

He felt bad about it, when Tris repeated with pain-laced intensity: “Just ever the bond. Please.” Fortunately so did the dark healer.

“Fine... we might not actually need the crypt. A single bone might suffice. A hard connection to his ancestors.”

“And then?” Regulus urged, his voice low and dangerous, though not even turning. In truth, it was hard to pay attention, when all he wanted was embracing Tris, taking away as much of the pain as he could. Standing up again, he pressed the younger boy's face into his side. “What then?”

“Then you bring it here and better have a good idea, how to explain yourself to a bunch of very uptight, very ill-tempered past Lords, who need to value your word over that of the present Lord Malfoy.”

Regulus nodded. Some truth. Annoying the hell out of people seemed to work for him just as good as for Sirius. “How much time?”

He saw the old man's shrug only out of the corner of his eyes. “The less, the better.”

That was all he needed. “You take care of your valuable asset here. As in: keep him alive. I get the stuff.” He bowed to kiss Tristan's forehead whispering into his hair: “It will be okay, love, hear me? I won't let you die.” Cupping his cheek, too, he continued: “Besides... I have a debt to pay, after the cave, don't I?” Even through his suffering, it made Tristan smile. That was enough for him. Carefully he stepped back, signaling goodbye and apparated.

\----

Sinking back into the chair, Tristan tried to fight the despair as much as the pain. He didn't waste anymore strength to hide his reactions. Pride was useless in some situations, in particular, when Master Hermes knew exactly, how he looked at his worst and could tell, he wasn't anywhere near good, anyways.

He would need said strength for something else, entirely. Breathing slowly, until he was very sure of his voice, he rasped: “Be fair. Give him the time he asked of you.”

The exchanged a silent look that made Tristan's heart sink further, then the teacher spoke softly, with more compassion, than he had expected. “You know, how this will end. The sooner we do it, the better. No more pain. No risk of remaining damage.”

Tristan shook his head. “He would never forgive you. And I swear, a Black can really hold a grudge.”

Master Hermes huffed exasperatedly. “That is not, why you are doing this. Let go of this futile hope, child. It will be easier for both of you. Set him free and stay with us. Your stubborn attitude brings nothing but pain for either of you.”

To that, he shrugged. “So be it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to know, how Hermes Ascolip seems to you. Let me know, what you think of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a sucker for comments, so don't be shy and talk to me, if you see something you like. Or don't like. I am not picky ;)


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